A Dance in Winter
by Snapegirlkmf
Summary: In a land where magic is forbidden, and those born with the Gift collared and made servants, Rumple is Gaston's bondservant, a single father raising two small children. When his baby girl becomes deathly ill, he makes a deal with Maleficent to heal his child, but her price is that he dance with Lady Belle at the winter gala, practicing the deception of a lifetime.
1. A Life Undone

**A Dance In Winter**

**1**

**A Life Undone**

******Author's Notes: This is my entry for the FB OUAT Fanfic and Creations cover bunny contest...cover and title by Emilie Brown! **

The first rays of the morning sun crept in through the cracked window pane of the dilapidated cottage occupied by the Prytani bondservant Rumplestiltskin Gold and his family and danced across the worn surface of the wooden floor. The cottage was a tiny affair, barely large enough in its one room to house the three occupants who lived in it. A braided rag rug made from scraps of worn cloth graced the floor and beyond that was a small hearth where a fire had died to embers. A rickety pine table stood in the middle of the floor, with two benches on either side of it. Wooden dishes and horn spoons and forks were piled atop them at one end of the table. A small clay urn with some wilted sunflowers was in the center of the table.

Along the wall beside the hearth were three straw stuffed pallets with faded blue sheets on them. Each pallet bore a member of the Gold family in it, the largest being Rumple, wrapped in his light green blanket, the next was Baelfire, his five-year-old son, and the third had Rumple's small daughter, Aileen in it, who was two. The children had kicked off their blankets during the night, and Bae sprawled half off his pallet onto the floor.

A battered iron cauldron was hanging inside the fireplace upon a rotating hook, and some shopworn fireplace tools leaned against the brick fireplace. Two crates were shoved on the opposite side of the pallets, and a small curtain could be drawn across that space for a measure of privacy, such as it was.

As the sun sparkled through the window, Aileen began tossing and turning again, her light brown curls plastered to her fair cheek as she whimpered in the grip of a sudden high fever.

Bae had woken to use the chamber pot and was going to fall back to sleep, when he saw his little sister moaning. He went to see if she were wet or something and when he touched her, found she was burning up. His dark eyes wide, he ran over to where his father slept and shook his shoulder.

"Papa! Papa, wake up! Aileen's sick!"

Rumple stirred, accustomed to waking at the slightest touch after a year of being bondservant to the arrogant and cruel Gaston deLyon, the Galatian lord who owned him. Rumple opened his eyes and blinked up at his son. "Bae? What's the matter?"

"M'fine, Papa . . . it's Aileen. I think . . . I think she's got a fever!" his son repeated.

Rumple arose immediately. Like his son, he wore a simple undyed linen smock and his feet were bare. He was a lean medium-sized man with shoulder-length silky brown hair and an animated handsome face with expressive brown eyes. Around his neck was a gold collar set with a single stone—a fire onyx, which bound his magic.

Like all collared servants, Rumple was a Prytani magician, born with magic's gift in a kingdom that had once been neighbors with warlike Galatia. Prytainia was a small kingdom, sandwiched between Galatia on one side and the Snowfell mountains on the other, a lush valley where the earth was rich and grew almost anything planted within it thanks to the earth mages who tilled the soil, and tended all the crops and forests, as well as the wild animals who lived in the kingdom. Prytainia was famous for its fine wool, beautiful spun clothing of rainbowed hues, and the magicians who dwelled there. Ruled by the Mage Lords and their Conclave, Prytainia prospered, trading with their neighbor and other kingdoms, offering their services as mages when they traveled outside their borders.

No one quite knew what had prompted Galatia's king, George, to invade Prytainia, except perhaps he grew jealous of the fact that the neighboring kingdom, though smaller than his own, was wealthier due to the fact that ruling family's Mage Lords could spin straw into gold, and the prosperous peaceful kingdom was like a precious jewel worn upon a naïve lady's hand. George also hated and distrusted magicians ever since almost being assassinated by a dark mage, Zoso, years ago. The practice of magic was forbidden in Galatia, and all of its hedge mages and witches had either been driven out or burned at the stake by the time George was married to his queen, Marian. Marian died giving birth to an heir, James, who was a rather sickly child, and George indulged him as his only heir and son. Until his death from a dragon's claws when he was eighteen.

A series of bad weather—torrential rains and then a wildfire had plagued Galatia afterwards . . .resulting in their crops failing and people starving.

And it had been then that George had turned his sights to Prytainia to the east. Prytania had fertile land and was prosperous, trading over the mountains, and their Mage Lords were benevolent rulers who helped their people with their magic and believed a ruler's first duty was to their people. They had a small corps of household guards and no true standing army, just volunteers in case of an attack by the ogres. In contrast, Galatia had a large well-trained army, one of the largest in any kingdom in Fairy Tale Land, and they were equipped with the latest weapons and armor, including lances that were tipped with dreamshade and a special corps of knights bore weapons dipped in squid ink, which paralyzed the magic born.

George ordered the attack at midnight, and the Prytani were caught by surprise. The city fell within two hours, despite the Mage Lord families who awoke to defend it. Rumple's family, the Golds, were betrayed from within by his faithless wife, Milah, who opened the gates of the palace to Sir Gaston and his men.

Using their squid ink tipped weapons, Gaston and his company subdued the Golds and took them as prisoners. Those that didn't try and fight back, that is. Rumple been forced to watch in horror as the Galatians slaughtered his household staff and his parents because they were deemed "too dangerous" to live, beheaded and their remains burnt upon a pyre to totally destroy them and prevent them from "returning", even though no Prytani mage practiced the dark arts of necromancy. Rumple still had nightmares about that and woke screaming or weeping with his face in his pillow to muffle his cries.

Dragged back to Galatia in chains, Rumple soon discovered that mages were second class citizens in Galatia, scorned and regarded as abominations by most of the populace, especially the king. He ordered all the Prytani mages collared with special collars of obedience that blocked their magic, making the once proud magicians slaves to the ruling class of Galatians.

Rumple was now Gaston's slave, he and his children, even though neither of them showed signs of being able to spellcast yet. Thus they weren't collared, but the moment they showed any type of magical ability, they would find a collar about their necks too.

That had been a year previously, and Rumple still chafed under the rule of his harsh master, and dreamed one day of being free . . . and making those who had harmed him and his people pay in spades. There was an old saying in Prytainia—_help a wizard and magic shall make you prosper, harm a wizard and his wrath shall make you weep, a wizard never forgets, so do unto him as you would wish to be done unto you._ Plainly George and his ruling class had forgotten that little bit of wisdom. But someday, Rumple had vowed, he would remind them all of the error of their ways . . . and they would regret what they had done . . . forever.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he walked over to where his small daughter lay upon her pallet. "Hey now, my little spark," he crooned. Aileen's name meant "bright flame" and so he had nicknamed her "little spark". It was a tradition in his family to give children names pertaining to fire or something similar. Rumple's father had been named Robert-meaning "bright fame", and his mother Rhiannan-appropriately her name meant "little witch". Baelfire's name meant "little bonfire". Rumple's own name meant-"shining spinner of straw into gold"—quite fitting as that was one of his Mage Talents. The Talent to transform objects and living things ran in his line, as did a Talent for healing and foresight and potion making. The Golds had been the ruling Mage Lords of the Council of Seven, and Rumple was among the strongest mages in five generations.

Rumple gently felt his child's forehead. "Gods! You're burning up, dearie!"

He lifted his listless child, cradling her close, and grimaced as he felt her bottom. She was wet, having had an accident during the night. "Bae," he called to his son. "I need you to bring me some soapy water and a cloth. And then strip the sheet off the pallet."

"Papa, she wet the bed again, didn't she?" the five-year-old sighed.

"She's sick, dearie, and it happens. Now, please, do as I say." Rumple urged.

When Bae brought the water and cloth back, Rumple gently cleaned the little girl, who whined and squirmed, putting on some salve and then a padded cloth diaper. "Shhh . . .it's going to be okay," he told her, though he feared the fever was the first sign of something much worse. He dressed her in a clean yellow smock, like all slaves. In Galatia, slaves—meaning his people—were forced to wear yellow colored tunics and smocks, unless they were wearing their master or mistress' livery while working for them.

"Papa . . . m' hot . . .!" Aileen moaned pathetically.

"I know, dearie . . ." Rumple emptied out the dirty water and refilled it from the rain barrel he'd set outside the cottage door. Then he began to bathe his sick daughter, trying as best he could to bring down her fever.

He used his knowledge of herbs to brew a small amount of yarrow tea, making an infusion which he added to a tub and bathed his cranky child with it, hoping the yarrow's natural properties would help sweat the fever out. The fever started to go down, but a few hours later, it was back up again, and he also saw telltale red spots on Aileen's body.

Bae gasped. "Papa! It's . . . the spotted plague!"

The spotted plague was an illness that had begun striking down the very old, young, and weak in Galatia. No one knew where it had come from, but it was whispered it was the gods' punishment for invading Prytainia and killing most of its Mage Lords and taking the rest off in chains to be slaves. But much as Rumple would have liked to believe that, he knew that was not so. His knowledge as an herbalist told him the spotted plague was a virus most likely brought on by poor hygiene and filth as well as heat and some kind of carrier, like lice. The Galatians, unlike his own people, did not believe in daily bathing . . . instead dousing themselves in heavy perfumes and giving themselves only cursory washings of hands, face, and feet every other day, but a full bath only once every two weeks . . . if that.

It had taken weeks for Rumple and his children to accustom themselves to the Galatians body odor, and sometimes Aileen still ran about holding her nose and saying, "Ewww! Stinky!" when someone passed her. Rumple thought it quite funny, but knowing that as a slave she could be punished for such disrespect to a Galatian, he had to scold her when he saw her saying such things.

Now he saw to his dismay that his beloved baby girl had fallen victim to the sickness that had claimed the lives of almost a hundred and fifty Galatians and Prytani alike last year alone. Terrified for the life of his child, he did something he knew he should never do—he used his magic in a forbidden attempt to bring down her fever.

Now Rumple was probably the strongest mage in Prytainia, and though the collar of obedience was spelled to block a mage's magic, it was dark magic, and Rumple's magic was strongest when he healed. His power, combined with his iron will, managed to circumnavigate his collar for a brief moment, and brought the dangerously high fever down to a managable level.

He breathed a quick sigh of relief . . .until the collar glowed a sullen red and pain swamped him as the collar punished him for using his magic without permission from his master.

Rumple crumpled to the floor with a soft cry as red hot knives of agony speared through him.

"Papa!" Bae cried, rushing over to him, then stopping when he saw the collar glowing. He knew, as did all Prytani, what that meant. "Papa, why? Why'd you do it?" he sobbed.

Aileen began to cry too, as if sensing her brother's distress.

Rumple writhed upon the floor for another instant . . . until the collar released him. Then he just lay there, thankful the painful seizure had left him able to control himself this time . . . probably because he had used healing magic instead of magic to harm. The first time he had tried to use his magic to hurt his new master, the collar had dropped him in his tracks for several minutes, making him scream and lose control of his bodily functions while Gaston and his cronies laughed and mocked him, calling him "Rumple Bumpkin, the Piss Poor Prytani."

"Bae . . ." Rumple panted, slowly sitting up, all his nerve endings still on fire, though the pain was fading. The collar punished . . . but it never incapacitated for long, for the Galatians didn't want to lose their slaves' usefulness. "Please . . . get me some water."

Bae ran to get a cup of water from the small pitcher, and brought it to Rumple so he could drink. "Papa . . . are you all right? You shouldn't have done that."

"I had to, Bae. Your sister . . . she would have died else . . ." Rumple sighed. He waited until he felt the pain ease and then got to his feet.

On her pallet, Aileen cried, a thin wail.

Rumple came over to her and picked her up. "Your Papa's here, little spark . . . shh . . . come stop your crying, it'll be all right . . . just take my hand, baby girl, and hold it tight . . ." he rocked the child in his arms, cursing the Galatians as he did so.

"Papa, tirsty," whimpered his daughter, and Rumple gave her some water. She was a bit cooler, but he didn't fool himself into thinking the plague was beaten. His magic had been a trickle, not the steady stream he would need to cure her of this disease.

"Papa, what are you gonna do?" Bae asked, tugging on Rumple's smock. "You gotta go to work in an hour . . . an' Lisle won't watch Aileen if she's sick."

"I know, boy . . ." he sighed. Lisle was his Galatian neighbor, not a noble, but an ordinary citizen, a wool spinner by trade. Rumple had taught her how to spin a stronger finer thread, though she could not, as he used to, spin straw into gold. She watched his children when he went to work for his master up at court. But he knew that if Lisle saw Aileen had the spotted sickness, she would refuse to come near the child.

But the Prytani seemed to have an increased resistance to the plague . . . perhaps because of their mage blood. A mage's power, once manifested seemed to protect them from most diseases and slowed down their aging. It was one more reason why the Galatians hated them, he supposed.

"I could ask Regina," Rumple mused. Regina was a Prytani too, a daughter of another Mage Lord family, the Mills, and she was the slave of a spoiled noblewoman called Ella Landon. But Ella rarely woke before noon, as she spent all her nights partying at the estate of one Galatian noble or another, and so Regina was free from her demands for most of the day. "She could watch you . . ."

Bae nodded. He didn't mind the dark-haired witch, even though she could be sassy and sharp-tongued, Regina liked children, though her own son had been sold to another Galatian lord, a man called Michael of House Tavish. She was desperate to see her son again, and had often made deals with her mistress to see the boy, Henry, for a few hours every week, on his day off. Her husband, Daniel, had been killed in the coup, and Regina hated her new masters with a fine and deadly passion.

Rumple knew that if she should ever free herself of her collar, the streets of Galatia City would run red with blood.

"Stay with your sister, Bae," Rumple murmured, and dressed quickly in his yellow tunic and plain white pants, he detested the color, for he thought it made him looked jaundiced as well as labeling him a commodity.

Then he went swiftly out the door and down two huts to Regina's small home. The slave quarters for those Prytani who served at the palace were all alike . . . and all close to the palace so the servants could attend their masters and mistresses as needed. They returned to their cottages during the evening, or as their masters allowed.

Rumple knocked upon the door of the small hut.

It was opened a moment later by a tall woman with dark flowing hair and high cheekbones in a shapeless yellow dress with a cord belt and sandals. "Rumple! I should have known it was you. Only you practice common courtesy any longer," Regina laughed, her voice harsh with mockery. "These Galatians wouldn't know courtesy if it bit their ass. Come in."

Rumple entered her home, which was just like his, except she was alone in it. "Regina, I've come to ask you for a favor. Aileen is sick . . . with the spotted fever . . ."

"Oh no! When did she start having it?" cried the Prytani mage in dismay.

"Last night or early this morning," Rumple told her. "Could you please watch her and Bae while I go and attend Master Gaston?"

Regina nodded. "I can . . .Mistress Ella partied hard last night . . . she won't be up and about till three in the afternoon, and when she does get up . . . she'll be lucky not to have the world's worse hangover, the stupid ass!" Then the witch smiled coldly. "And I'll make it last by slipping her a few things in her morning tea . . . so I can watch Bae and Aileen till you come home this evening."

Rumple smiled gratefully. "Thanks!"

"Don't mention it. We Prytani have to stick together . . ."

He clasped her hand. "United we stand . . ."

"Divided we fall," she finished the old saying.

"I'll bring them by soon," he promised. Gaston expected him at the palace in an hour to fetch him his breakfast and pick out his clothes and saddle his horse for his morning of hunting, and then Rumple had to clean his apartments and help serve the soldiers at their barracks mess hall.

An hour later, Rumple trudged up the road to the palace, wearing Gaston's red and gold livery, his collar glinting in the light of the sun. He prayed Aileen would be somewhat better by sundown. Then he wondered if he was on latrine duty this afternoon.

The soldiers loved when he had that chore . . . they thought it great fun to humiliate him by pranking him and mocking him, calling him "Mage of the Midden" and "the Golden Turd" among other things. And because they were Galatians and he a despised Prytani mage, he could do nothing save endure it.

He arrived at King George's palace, and went to the kitchens to fetch Gaston's breakfast tray.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle Farraher, daughter of Lord Maurice of Avonlea, was bored as she traveled in the coach her father had insisted she use, after her mare had thrown a shoe the day before and had to be left at the farrier's. They could not wait for the shoe to be put on because they were already late for King George's winter gala, and though they were not Galatian nobles, but amabassdors from the kingdom of Avonlea, Maurice knew they had to keep up appearances, and it would never do to insult the powerful king by being late by more than a day or two.

The farrier had promised to deliver Belle's mare, Delight, as soon as the shoe was put on, and Maurice had ensured it would be done by giving the man some extra sovereigns. Then they had continued onward to the palace.

He just hoped this winter gala was better than the last one.

Belle looked out the window of the coach, tapping her fingers on the sill, her book lying forgotten in her lap. This would be her first winter gala, and she prayed she wouldn't be bored to tears . . . or have to dance with some arrogant Galatian prig. Belle was twenty that spring, and had been university educated, a child prodigy who had attended the Avonlea University of Arts and Literature until the death of her mother three years before.

Felice had died giving birth to her son, William, just after Belle's entrance into adult society at seventeen, and since then Belle had stayed close to her father, Maurice, for she feared he might do himself harm, as he had loved his wife greatly and her loss and the loss of his heir nearly caused him to follow her to the grave with them. Belle had given up her studies to tend to Maurice for almost a year, and it was only recently that Maurice had resumed his duties as an ambassador.

Avonlea was a small kingdom to the west of Galatia, and they were careful to maintain cordial relations with the warlike kingdom, lest they too be taken over as had Prytainia. Avonlea's Queen, Aurora, and her Prince Consort, Philip, were cautious not to antagonize King George, and thus had sent their First Ambassador and his beautiful daughter to attend George's winter gala.

Belle, who had heard stories of the wild parties the Galatians gave, just prayed could get through the night without stepping on someone's foot. . . or insulting them with her frank observations. She knew one of her failings was her honesty . . . and another was her ability to see through a person's facades to their true nature, and then comment on it. Schooled as an academic, Belle much preferred her studies to any boring social gathering, but as the daughter of an ambassador, she knew she had a duty to her country. And so she would go to this ball.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

By the time the bells of the Aventine monks cloister rang the evening hour, Rumple was weary from toting water to scrub the banquet hall for the gala and helping to muck out the stables. But thankfully Gaston was involved in wagering his shirt with a group of other rakehells, freeing the twenty-seven year old Prytani to go back to the slave quarters and pick up his children.

He arrived at Regina's and found the Prytani witch just pulling some corn cakes from the oven and some apple turnovers, which she had filched from the kitchen. "I'm back," Rumple announced after he'd knocked at the door.

"Papa!" Bae yelled, and ran across the floor to hug him about the knees.

He picked up his son and hugged him. "How's my little imp?"

"I'm good," Bae said, hugging his papa.

Rumple set him down and said to Regina, "And how's my little spark, Regina?"

Regina set down the pan with the turnovers, her pretty face grave. "Not good, Rumple. Her fever's returned . . . and she's not responding to any of my remedies."

Rumple felt as if he'd just been cut off at the knees. He had lost so much. He couldn't lose his precious daughter too. Not his little spark. "Isn't . . . there anything you can try . . .?"

Regina shook her head sadly. "I've tried all the herbal remedies I know . . . Rumple, she's too weak . .. and we can't use magic . . ."

"But . . . what can I do?" he cried, distraught. "I have to save my little girl! If I lose her . . . I'll surely become dust!" He nearly wept at the thought. He went over to where the child slept upon Regina's pallet, her skin hot and dry to the touch, listless, speckled with red spots, her little chest rising and falling softly.

Regina touched his shoulder. "There's only one thing you can do."

"What?"

"Go see Maleficent . . . the Shadow Witch . . .she alone can use magic in Galatia . . . and magic can save Aileen, it's the only thing that can."

Rumple opened his mouth to protest. Maleficent had been a Prytani once . . . and had been exiled for practicing necromancy. But it was rumored that she would agree to use her powers for anyone, to do anything . . . for a price.

And he was desperate enough to deal with her. Because for his precious child he would do . . .anything.


	2. The Dark Bargain

**2**

**The Dark Bargain**

Rumple knew Regina was right. His only hope was Maleficent, the exiled Prytani who now called herself the Shadow Witch. But he hesitated, even as he acknowledged Regina's words, because he hated leaving his child so ill. He knelt beside her pallet, his hands tangling in her hair—the color of aspen leaves in fall, a brownish gold, a little lighter than his own. Aileen moaned fretfully, and opened her eyes, which were glassy with fever.

"Papa?" she whimpered, and held up her arms.

He lifted her into his arms, flinching at the heat radiating from her. "Hey, dearie. How's my little spark?"

She snuggled against his shoulder. "Feel icky," she whined. She was hot and achy, but being held by her papa made her feel a little better. Not much, but a little.

Rumple rubbed her back, feeling distinctly helpless and hating it. Once he had been the most powerful mage in his kingdom, he would have been First once his father, Robert, had stepped down, but now he was nothing, a slave to be mocked and ridiculed, and be forced to spin straw into gold for his master, Gaston. He couldn't even cure his own child—a thing which would have been so simple had he been free of this damned collar. He bowed his head, tears of frustration, guilt, and rage filling his eyes.

He blinked them away fiercely. He would not weep. He could not afford to. Not yet. "Aileen, baby girl, Papa's going to go and get you some medicine to make you well." He told the child. "So I want you to go back to sleep and be good for Auntie Regina. I'll be back soon."

"Nooo!" his daughter wailed, a thin little cry that tore his heart in two. "No go, Papa! Stay!"

He exchanged helpless glances with Regina. He knew he had a limited amount of time to go to the northern end of the city, to the gaming hall called the Dragon's Hoard, where Maleficent ruled, and convince her to help him. But how could he leave Aileen this way? He was terrified that as soon as he walked out the door, she would give up and die, and so he clung to her.

"Rumple . . ." Regina warned. "You need to go."

"I know, but . . ."

"C'mere, little spark," Bae said, and he gently unwound his sister's arms from about Rumple's neck and transferred them to his own. "I'll hold you till Papa comes back, all right?"

Aileen whimpered, but she didn't cry when her brother held her. She was used to being with him, for when Rumple was away serving Gaston, Bae was often helping to take care of her along with whatever adult was available. "Bae . . ."

"Shhh . . ." he looked up at Rumple. "You can go now, Papa."

"All right, son. Thank you."

Rumple turned to leave, saying to Regina, "I'll be back as quickly as I can. I'm just lucky Gaston's entertaining a woman tonight."

Regina rolled her eyes. "That boor! Who'd have him?"

"Milah, my former wife," Rumple said bitterly.

"Rumple, I'm so sorry," Regina said sadly.

"So am I. That I didn't kill her before they collared me. But instead I was caught off guard . . . and before I knew it this was around my neck and I was forced to watch as they executed my parents . . .my trusted servants . . . Micah, Anita, and John, even my children's mute nurse, Amalthea, who taught us sign language . . .all of them slaughtered . . .like pigs in the square . . ." He shut his eyes against the blood drenched memories. "And now she sports with Gaston, her wretched lover, the only Prytani woman of my house to escape the reaping that night . . .may plague rot her bones!"

"I don't know why she ever married you, Rumple." Regina sighed. "She was nothing like Aurelia."

"I know. Aurelia, for all it was an arranged match, grew to be my friend as well as my wife. When I lost her after Aileen was born . . .I felt empty and all I could think of was filling the hole inside me . . . and Milah . . .Milah made me think she could do so . . . that she would love me and my children . . .and instead she destroyed me and my family." He had married a mere three months after Aurelia had died in childbirth, desperate to find a mother for his children, and Milah had fooled him good.

Regina patted his arm. "You were too good for her, Rumple. She's a jealous cow, she wanted you for your position and your money, and when she got everything you could give her . . . she wanted to move on . . .and she was always jealous that she could hardly light a candle, while you could burn down the forest with your Gift. Screw her! Go to Mal. I'll watch the babies till you come back."

"I'll find a way to repay you, dearie."

"Nonsense! What's a little babysitting between friends? Didn't you watch Henry for me when I went on vacation with Daniel every year? He couldn't wait to spend the week with Uncle Rumple," Regina reminded him sadly. "Now get, Gold. Before you're summoned."

"If he summons me while he's with that tramp . . .I will puke all over his damn boots on principal," Rumple declared frostily. "And he can punish me all he wants afterwards." He waved as he went out the door.

Regina watched as the shadows swallowed him up and shut the door. Then she turned to Bae and said, "How about we make some tea and you can have some almond pastries I got from Missus Beezus, at the palace?" Beezus was the under cook and she had a soft spot for the conquered Prytani and always saved what was left over from the king's endless banquets with his nobles and gave them to "the poor and needy" and who was more needy than the Prytani slaves, thought Regina with a wry bitter twist to her mouth.

"Yay! Pastries!" Bae grinned, for he almost never got sweets anymore. "Thanks, Aunt Gina!" He bounced his sister a little and said, "Don't cha want some pastries, spark?"

"Want Papa!" Aileen whimpered.

Bae sighed. "Papa'll be home soon." He went and sat down on the pallet. "Now let's sing a song, Aileen. Pat a cake, pat a cake, baker's man, bake me a cake as fast as ya can . . .!" Usually when they sang that song, they also did accompanying hand motions as well, but Bae sensed Aileen was too sick to do that, so he just sang to her.

Regina smiled as she went to put the battered copper kettle on the hearth for tea. She remember singing that song to Henry when he was a little tot, when she was mistress of the Mills family, having married her husband over some objections from her mother, Cora, who would have preferred she marry a Mage Lord rather than a mere Horse Speaker like Daniel, a common mage, but Regina had finally convinced her that it was Daniel or no one when she and Daniel threatened to elope and ruin her reputation unless Cora agreed to the match. And since there was no law forbidding it, Cora had realized her daughter's happiness was more important than social climbing, and agreed.

_We were so happy . . .the three of us . . .until that bastard George . . ._ she thought as she went and dampened a cloth and wiped the feverish Aileen down.

Aileen came willingly into the sorceress's arms then. "Auntie Gina . . .where's Papa?"

"He went to get medicine for you, little spark," she said, stroking the fair curls. "But he'll be back very soon." Then she began to sing in a soothing voice, "Bye lo baby bunting, Papa's gone a'hunting, to get a little rabbit skin to wrap his baby bunting in . . ." then she poked Aileen's tummy playfully.

Normally this never failed to make the child squeal, but not tonight. Aileen smiled a bit, then lapsed into a fitful doze while Regina held her burning body in her arms and prayed Maleficent would deal fairly with Rumple, whose family had not been the ones to cast her out . . .that had been her own. Perhaps that would count for something, she hoped. Children were precious to the Mage Lords, for their longevity often prevented them from having more than one or two at the most. That Rumple had managed to get two healthy ones on frail Aurelia was a miracle of the good gods.

Regina's elder sister, Zelena, had been born with an unstable Gift and mind, forcing Cora to put her in a special institution after she almost killed their father one day when he caught her beating a three-year-old Regina almost to death. Years later, she had strangled on some soup she was eating, though Regina often thought it had been Zelena's envy that had killed her.

Regina continued to rock and sing to the poor sick child, who luckily seemed to have inherited Rumple's constitution and not that of her mother's, else she probably would have succumbed by now to this disease, until Bae tapped her arm and said, "Aunt Gina, the tea's done."

"Sleep now, spark," she whispered, placing a kiss on the little forehead, and gauging the child's fever as she did so.

It was not good, she thought sadly. _Maleficent, my sister sorceress, help Rumple. Before these damn Galatians claim another one of us!_ She thought and then rose to get the tea.

**Pagw~*~*~*~*~Break**

Rumple made his way swiftly through the capital's streets, sticking to the alleys and shadowy byways, for if he were caught out without a pass from his master, there would be hell to pay. But the city watch was not alert this night . . . or rather they were alert down at the noble's end of the city, where they were throwing parties to celebrate the winter gala coming up on the weekend. He shivered and clutched his thin tabard to him tighter, because even Gaston's livery was cheap stuff, woven shoddily, and Rumple would have sent it back and ordered one made correctly had he been the one to pay for it.

But the Galatians weren't able to tell shoddy weaving from expert, they just thought if something were dyed flamboyantly and had enough trim stuck on it, and looked flashy it was quality. Rumple snorted. Any one of his apprentices could have woven better. Hells, Bae could have, and the boy was only five! But the Galatians weren't artisans, but conquerors, and the god they worshipped was the god of war . . .and what they couldn't make they stole from those they conquered.

He fingered the collar absently, still not used to it even after a year of servitude, still chafing against the die the Fates had cast his way. Someday, he vowed, he would be free . . . and when he was . . .he would teach all these petty nobles the error of their ways . . .and make them weep for the doing of it.

Then he pushed away those dark thoughts and concentrated on getting to Maleficent's gambling hall, which was one of the priciest in the city, and by invitation only. But he'd worry about that once he got there.

It took about ten minutes using the back alleys to arrive at the establishment . . .a tall building with golden marble pillars and a roof that sported raven statues and a black dragon spreading its wings above the doorway. The name of it was the Dragon's Hoard, though it was often jokingly referred to as the Death Hoard, for many a gambler had lost his entire fortune within it.

He stepped up to the doors and felt the tingle of magical wards assessing him before he stepped within.

Inside the hall, the chill marble walls were draped with thick velvet bunting, swathing it in shadows and mystery, with the occasional twinkling of gold braid or a cut sparkling diamond here and there to tempt the eager patron into considering the wealth that could be gained at the tables if Fortuna smiled upon him. The floor was a mosaic of tiles depicting the goddess Fortuna rewarding her faithful with a shower of gold, though few noticed the dark shadows in the background . . .waiting to consume the foolish follower who thought having gold was the same as keeping it.

Rumple rolled his eyes at the imagery. He spun gold, and so knew all too well that having it was easy . . .but one spin of Fortune's Wheel and you could lose everything. As he had. Now all of his wealth, as well as his family, was either in some Galatian noble's coffer or in the ground with his deceased relatives.

He waited impatiently for the door ward to arrive.

After a few moments, a tall man dressed in a black costume that resembled a raven's with a raven headdress atop his head, approached.

"Welcome to the Dragon's Hoard. I am Raven, the Lady Mal's major domo. May I see your invitation, please?"

"I don't have one," Rumple said evenly. "I'm not here to gamble. I need to speak with your mistress on a matter of great urgency. You can tell her . . . Mr. Gold is here for a favor."

Raven eyed him up and down. Then his dark eyes widened as he caught sight of the collar. "But you're . . .Fortuna's breast . . .you're . . ."

Rumple nodded swiftly. "Speaking my name here will gain you nothing but sorrow. Go, please, and tell her what I said. And tell her—whatever her price . . .I shall meet it."

Raven bowed than whispered, "At once, my lord. All magic comes with a price."

Rumple's eyes glinted. Then he whispered back, "But the price to be paid is not yet." Then he flashed the other man a complicated hand gesture, one used by illusionists in his homeland.

Raven opened his hand to reveal a gold thread, then smirked and darted away into a side passage.

_He's one of us then,_ Rumple thought. For six months ago, Regina and he had begun plotting a way to free themselves from the yoke of the Galatians, and had started a secret resistance movement among the Prytani who were not collared and some of the common Galatians who hated King George and his policies of oppression. One of their code phrases was the one Raven had just spoken to him, and the confirmation was the gold thread. Regina joking called it the Spinner's Revolution, but she was as deadly serious about it as he was.

When the time was right . . .they would act . . .and George and his nobles wouldn't even know what hit them. But the key was getting these blasted collars off. If Rumple could figure out a way to do that . . .

He shook his head again, sending his restless thoughts back to sleep. What he needed to concentrate on now was convincing Maleficent to help him save Aileen.

He waited with barely concealed impatience for Raven to return.

Soon the man reappeared, silent as the bird whose name he bore, and beckoned Rumple to follow him.

Rumple followed him through a draped door and into a cold marble hall lit with flameless mage globes, down a ways until they reached a paneled door, which Raven knocked once on, and then opened, bowing to Rumple as he held it for him.

"You don't have to do that," Rumple murmured. "I'm no longer a lord."

"Beg pardon, but you are. They may collar you, but they cannot take away what you were born as," Raven replied, dipping his head.

Rumple just nodded and then went into the office.

The office was rather like a velvet jewelry box, he thought inanely, with a lush purple carpet, black velvet drapes shot through with gold thread, and several bookshelves containing precious magical texts. Maleficent sat behind a desk carved of ebony, in a plush violet chair like a throne, her long manicured nails tapping on the top of it. She had piled her hair artfully on top of her head in two spirals, rather like horns, decorated with glittering gems and wound round with strings of golden chains. Her deep crimson dress was elegant yet it hinted at charms beneath, and her face was beautiful, yet coldly assessing. A deep ruby pendant hung at her throat.

With a wave of a hand, she shut the door.

Rumple raised an eyebrow. "Trying to impress me with parlor tricks, dearie? My apprentices all try that one."

Maleficent laughed, low and sensuous. "No, Rumple darling. I simply don't want to have to call Raven to shut the door." She steepled her hands on the desk. "So . . . what brings the former First Mage of Prytainia to my humble abode?"

"Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly," Rumple quoted an old nursery rhyme. "Obviously, I have need of your services."

"Why should I help you?" she asked coldly.

"I would cite you love of your homeland and your people, but we both know you could care less since Cora Mills cast you out for practicing necromancy to try and bring back your dead lover, Stefan Ardmore." Rumple replied, trying not to sweat, for the room was stiflingly hot. "So I shall come right to it. The help I require isn't for me . . . it's for my child. For _Aurelia's_ child," he emphasized his dead first wife's name.

Maleficent flinched. Then she said, "What has happened? Tell me they have not taken them from you!"

"No. For now. . . Gaston shows no interest in them. But Aileen, my little spark, has taken ill with the plague going around . . .she burns like a smith's forge . . . and I cannot heal her! Not all the herbal remedies will work. If I cannot get her fever to break she'll die." The desperation in his tone was palpable. "Maleficent, you have no reason to love us, or me, but for the sake of the child you adopted as your own . . .the child who grew up to become my wife, _please_ help me! Aileen is my light in this ocean of darkness and despair."

Maleficent flinched. "You and yours cast me out! You left me at the mercy of the Galatians . . . you separated me from my child . . .why should I not separate you from yours?"

Rumple bowed his head. "That's your choice. But lady, remember who else's child she is. And ask yourself—what would Aurelia do?"

Mal's hand clenched upon her seeing globe. "Damn you for a sly tongued trickster imp, Rumplestiltskin!" she swore.

Rumple waited with baited breath, not even daring to hope his desperate gambit had paid off.

The sorceress glowered at him for a few more moments, then said with gritted teeth. "All right. Because Aurelia would haunt me forever from the Underworld did I not help you . . . I can make an elixir to cure her . . . but . . . .there's always a price."

"You don't need to tell me that. Name it. And somehow I shall pay it."

Maleficent snorted. "If you pay me not in gold, Rumple darling, for gold I have aplenty . . ." Her smile deepened. "My price is this. I shall give you a small vial now, enough to break the fever temporarily. But in order to gain the full cure . . . you must dance with a noble lady at the winter gala . . ."

"I must _what_? Are you mad? I cannot do that! I'm a slave . . . and a Prytani! We are forbidden to attend any ball, but especially that one!"

"Wait! I'm not finished," she held up a hand. "And not just any girl . . .Ambassador Maurice's daughter. The one they call—Belle. Dance with her for two dances, in plain view of George and all his court," she waved a hand and a small crystal vial of a murky potion appeared on the desk. She shoved it at him. "—and then the rest of this," she beckoned and again a vial appeared in her hand. "—shall be yours and you'll have your little spark back. Fail . . .and your light in your ocean of darkness shall go out forever."

Rumple cringed slightly at her cruel tone. "Why are you doing this? What you ask of me—it's impossible!"

"You're a Mage Lord . . .you do the impossible everyday . . . or you did once. I suggest you go shopping, Rumple! For you can't go to the ball in _that_!" She pointed to his livery. Then she leaned over the desk. "Do we have a deal . . . dearie?"

He grasped her hand. "We do." His hand clenched upon hers then. "And remember—no one breaks deals with _me_, dearie!"

Mal laughed darkly. "I know well the motto of your House, Gold! And the curse that shall follow should I renege on my bargain. But keep your end and I shall keep mine."

Rumple released her icy hand and murmured, "Why this price? When you could have me owe you a favor, unspecified, at a later date?"

"Because, darling . . . I'd rather watch a Prytani slave dance than be bored to death by all of Georgie's buffoons cavorting and thinking they know how to dance a volta. And you really need to get out more, Rumple!"

He clenched his fists. "If I am caught, you've signed my death warrant."

"Then be clever, my spinner lord, and spin a web of deception like none other!" she challenged. "At least for a night."

He tucked the precious cordial in his tunic pocket. "Done then! You shall see me dance at the gala . . .and I hope a dance in winter warms your cold heart, lady!"

He stalked to the door, feeling the drums of despair beating out a staccato rhythm in his bones. He had a mere four days to create the deception of a lifetime . . . without recourse to his magic . . .and in the balance rested the life of his only daughter . . . and even his own.

Maleficent watched him go, knowing she had stirred the cauldron till it bubbled . . . and now she would watch and see what came of it. For she knew one thing . . .the Spinner's Revolution would fail without outside help—and it was rumored this ambassador's daughter was a graduate of their university. . .and could have the knowledge they needed to break the collars and free the Prytani from slavery . . .if she would give it to them . . . or perhaps to a man she had met at the gala, who swept her off her feet . . . _For you, Aurelia,_ she thought and lifted a jade goblet to her lips and drank from it, the blood red wine staining her lips crimson.


	3. A Spinner's Legacy

**3**

**A Spinner's Legacy**

Rumple managed to make it back to the Prytani quarters before any wandering patrols of Galatian militia noticed he was absent without a pass from his noble master. He went directly to Regina's hut and tapped three times on the door, something ingrained in him by his Prytani upbringing. "Polite as Prytani" had once been a byword for good manners, as had "Powerful as a Mage Lord". Before King George had attacked and decimated the ruling families and sent those who refused to bow under his military rule fleeing to hide in the hills and forests, like bandits.

Regina opened it and ushered it inside, the beryl on her collar glinting poisonously in the light from her single tallow lantern. "Rumple! Did you get it? I've done what I could, but Aileen's fever keeps going up. Damn it all! I'm so helpless without my magic."

"I know, dearie. So are we all," he sighed. "But I have a temporary solution." He came into the room. "Where is she?"

"There," Regina pointed to the little pallet she had set up beside the hearth.

Aileen lay listlessly upon it, moaning softly, her porcelain cheeks flushed a deadly hectic red.

Rumple ran to her, knelt and lifted her in his arms. "Your papa's here, little spark. It's gonna be okay." He fished out the precious vial and gently woke the child.

Aileen opened her eyes. "Papa? M'hot!"

"I know, pretty girl. Now, I need you to swallow something for me. It'll make you better, so don't spit it out, okay?" He prayed she was coherent enough to understand what he wanted. He placed the vial to her lips and tilted it. _Please, gods of healing and mercy, let her take this medicine without a struggle for me. And let it taste like nothing at all._ He knew some healing draughts were bitter, but he prayed this potion was not so.

Some of the potion dribbled past her cracked little lips and down her throat.

"Mmm!" whimpered the tot. "Wan' more!"

"Is is good?" he asked, relieved. He tilted the vial and she drank what was inside eagerly.

"Stawberries, Papa!" she lisped, licking her lips. "More, pweease?"

He chuckled at her wistful expression, thinking if the potion tasted like strawberries, that was a plus.

No sooner had the potion gone down her throat and entered her stomach, then it began to affect her. The red flush faded from her cheeks, her eyes lost their glassiness and became alert once again. The shocking heat vanished from her tiny body and she became sheened lightly with sweat as the terrible fever broke at last.

"It's working!" Regina exclaimed.

"Yes," Rumple nodded, smiling at his child. "For now. But it's not a full cure."

"What? Didn't Mal agree to help you?" the enchantress cried in dismay.

"She did . . . for a price. One that I have not fulfilled yet. I must dance at the winter gala . . . with a lady named Belle, the ambassador's daughter. Only then will she give me the rest of the cure." Rumple said heavily.

"Rumple, that's insane! You—a servant—go to one of _their_ parties? As what, a waiter? They'd never let you in the door, much less into their hallowed hall to dance with a guest! You'd be taken to the block and executed if you were found out."

"You think I don't know that?" he hissed. "But I will pay any price—_any_ price—to save my little spark. Just as you would if it were Henry lying here." He stroked Aileen's hair as she nestled against him.

"Sleepy, Papa," she whined.

"Yes, it's past your bedtime," he murmured. "I'm going to take you home."

"Are you sure you can do it?" asked his friend. "You'll have to disguise yourself. And this bloody thing!" she poked her collar with a finger.

The collar might look like fancy jewelry, but it, like much of Galatian society was a pretense. To one who wore it, the collar was a mark of slavery, no matter how pretty the design.

"I have to, Regina. I must practice the deception of my life . . . I who have always prided myself on straightforward dealings. And I will do this . . .for Aileen, for Bae, for all our captive children." His eyes flashed and he drew himself up.

He was not a large man, but the Prytani were not known for their size. He straightened his spine and lost the servile air he had learned painfully to perfect as Gaston's bondservant. There was a wild determination in his eyes now, a fierce hawk like look in his countenance, and a proud tilt to his chin. In that instant he was every inch a Prytani Mage Lord, First among his people, and the most powerful magician in all the realms.

Regina smiled. "The spinner has recalled his legacy," she said.

"I have never forgotten it," he replied evenly. "Only pretended to, dearie. And someday . . . the spinner shall reclaim what was stolen . . . and spin a web of destruction for those who have caged and tormented him and his people. But first . . .I shall dance with Lady Belle . . . and play the mysterious uninvited guest at the feast."

"Luck, Rumple," Regina said. "I'll be here . . .and watch the children for you . . and Henry too, if he can get off from his master."

"Thank you. And if the Fates are on my side that night . . . then perhaps they will be on our side come another night . . .once I figure out how to get these blasted collars off of us."

"If anyone can do it, you can. Or make a deal to have it done," she said with a sly smirk. "My family was good with horses and politics, but you were always good with people . . . and with words and contracts."

"Like a regular attorney, as my papa used to say," Rumple smiled sadly. It went without saying that he was a master in sorcery. "If I can manage it, I shall make the deal of a lifetime to get these off of us . . .but first, dear lady, I must make myself some new clothes. Because one can't go to the ball in _this!"_ He gestured disgustedly at his livery.

Regina chuckled. "Well, your family always was the top manufacturers of clothing in the country. Hopefully you've learned your lessons well, Rumple."

"Oh, don't worry, dearie. I could spin as soon as I could walk . . . or so it seems. Now I just need to obtain the proper fabrics . . ."

"I could help with that," Regina offered. "My mistress Ella entertains many men at her estate. . . and here in the palace. And they're always leaving clothing in her suite or her rooms. I could pilfer a few likely ones for you."

"Hmm . . . yes, I could remake them with the proper materials . . .like gold trim and such . . . and I can get such in the palace sewing rooms. Miss Kate likes me, she won't question if I happen to abscond with a bit of extra trim and some scissors and sewing kit. I can spin myself thread, as I spin for Gaston. And if anyone asks . . . why I'm making clothes for my lordship," Rumple sneered.

"I'll bring them by tomorrow night," she promised. "Ella will call for me then, as she's having some party. She'll need me, to serve as her personal assistant." Regina snorted. "Because gods know she can't put on makeup or do her hair to save her pathetic life!"

"Thanks again. Now let me wake up Bae and we'll get on home," Rumple said.

"Let the boy sleep, Rumple. I'll carry him," Regina demurred, and she picked up the sleeping Baelfire and carried him to Rumple's hut.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Belle was awake with the sun that next morning, her maid, Brianna, arranging for hot water for her bath to be brought up by two strapping Galatian men along with a large tub. Brianna would have preferred a bathing house, such as they had in Avonlea, which had been copied from the ones in Prytainia, using natural hot springs for the hot pool and man made cold and warm pools where you could bathe, soak, and socialize. Both sexes and all ranks of people used them in Prytainia, though only the wealthy could afford such in Avonlea.

As Belle bathed in the scented lavender water, Brianna took the tray that another servant had brought up and began laying out the breakfast items on the table. The Galatian weren't much for breakfast, usually eating some form of gruel or bread with some fruit and ale. Brianna had asked for some toast and eggs, some ham, and fruit for her mistress. What she got was an apple, a slice of ham that looked rather fatty, toast that was burnt on one side, and only the scrambled eggs looked edible. Brianna frowned and reminded herself they weren't in Avonlea anymore, where you'd have lovely hot rolls or flaky pastry with coffee and peaches of a morning.

Sighing, she went back over to where Belle was soaking and started to wash her mistress's hair, saying, "Well, breakfast is here, milady, such as it is."

"Let me guess. They don't really do breakfast around here," Belle said, half-amused.

"They do breakfast, but like a soldier on march," Brianna rolled her eyes. "Not like at home."

"From what I know, George is famous for his late night banquets, so perhaps the food and wine will be better then," Belle sighed. "But at least I've been able to have a bath and perhaps may go riding today. I think Delight would enjoy that."

"Aye, she would. And hopefully this dinner will be better than breakfast. I did manage to get you some tea, rather than that nasty ale," Brianna grimaced. She was a lively woman of about twenty-seven with reddish hair and blue eyes. "Do they think you want to get drunk in the morning? Though maybe getting sloshed is the only way you can eat their poor food. Maybe tomorrow I'll go down and cook myself! 'Tis probably the only way you'll get decent toast around here!"

Belle chuckled. For she had no doubt that her maid would do just that if she felt it was necessary. Brianna was not one to shy away from difficult tasks. "Well, I'll just make do for now and see what happens. Oh, and Bree, have you seen any of the . . err . . . Prytani around?"

"The collared slaves?" the maid asked, lowering her voice. "Not that I've noticed. They say those only serve the great lords here."

Belle frowned. "What was done to them . . . was very wrong. And I can't help but think . . .someone should do something about it. But Papa has said there's nothing to be done, that George's army is the strongest in the land and now that he's captured the Mage Lords . . . he'll use them like weapons against anyone who he sees as a threat. So we must not be one."

"Aye, milady. The ambassador is right. But I agree . . .and if they could get those collars off, those Mage Lords would make the Galatians weep for what they done," Brianna said darkly.

Belle was thoughtful as she stepped from the tub and Brianna wrapped her in a thick bath towel. She was wondering about the collars and if there were any books on how they had been made in the library. She pondered this as she ate breakfast, deciding to go and find the library before being summoned to King George's presence chamber with her father. Her scholarly curiosity was raging—as was her sense of justice.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Rumple had just enough time to eat breakfast with his children, serving them some porridge with honey and raisins and tea before getting into his uniform and going up to the palace to wait on Gaston. Gaston normally got up late, around ten, so Rumple had been able to sleep in a bit, and then woke up to give his daughter a bath and Bae also before starting breakfast.

"Papa, she's better!" Bae cried happily when he saw his sister, now back to normal, eating her porridge like a starving wolf.

"Yes, Bae, her fever broke last night after I gave her the special cordial and she's fine now," Rumple told him. For now.

"Did you make a good deal then?" his son asked.

"I made the best one I could," he replied truthfully. "Now eat, son. I need to drop you two off before I go up to the palace."

"Papa go work?" Aileen asked, porridge speckling her face.

"Yes, spark," he answered, gently wiping off her face with a cloth.

She made a face. "Milord Gaston—yuck!"

Rumple couldn't help but laugh at that, as did Bae. Then he shook his head and put a finger to his lips. "Shhh! That's our secret, remember?"

"Shh!" Aileen imitated him.

Rumple had been forced to teach his daughter caution, because he didn't want to bring the wrath of Gaston or one of his toadies down on his head. Gaston could punish him for his daughter's outspokenness, or worse, take her away from him. Bae understood the need for caution, but Aileen he needed to remind, making a game out of it, as he did now.

"More, Papa!" the child said when her small bowl was empty.

Rumple gave her half of what was supposed to be his portion. She needed it, he could do without it, and snatch something from the kitchens later today.

But she seemed more interested in playing with her second portion than eating it now, and Rumple, not wanting it to go to waste, said, "Hey there, dearie. Let's open wide for the dragon now . . . rroarrr . . . here comes the special magical dragon food . . . so this little bitty dragon can grow up big and strong . . . mmmm!" He made the spoon with the porridge on it swoop and circle around Aileen's head before diving towards her mouth.

The little girl clapped her hands and opened her mouth happily, as Rumple had intended.

He popped the spoon in and Aileen swallowed the porridge.

Bae grinned, recalling that he had also played that game with Rumple and his mother when he was that age and had played with his food.

"Mmm . . . more, Papa!" his little spark sang. "More dwagin!"

And their homely cottage echoed once more with the impish laughter of a happy child.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Belle was dressed in her riding outfit, a deep navy blue satin with a velvet border about the jacket and rows of shiny brass buttons, and the skirt was divided so she could ride astride. She knew that the Galatian women liked to ride sidesaddle, but Belle detested it, and saw no advantage to using one of those ridiculous torture devices, which took away a rider's ability to balance on the back of a horse and grip with her legs, the way a rider was supposed to. The one advantage to a side saddle was using one to make one's full skirts drape just so over the horse and therefore only suitable on parade. Not riding cross country the way Gaston wished her to.

She waited in the castle yard with a groom holding Delight's reins for her. Her pretty half-desert bred mare was a gorgeous golden color with a flowing cream mane and tail with huge brown eyes and a white star on her forehead. She was tacked up for the hunt, as Belle had been invited to go along with Sir Gaston and his set of nobles. Belle went and stroked her mare's dish-shaped muzzle as she waited for Gaston and his friends to appear.

Soon Gaston strode into view, his broad shoulders and towering physique making him seem like a giant next to his manservant, a small slender man with long brown hair that wore a glittering jeweled collar about his neck.

_A Prytani,_ she thought excitedly, and tried to get a better look at his face, but the servant kept his head down, as if afraid to meet anyone's eyes.

It was so different from her own servants in Avonlea, Belle thought. Because while they were servants, they also were considered people, and always made eye contact with their employers and sometimes even spoke their minds to them. Belle was unused to the subservience displayed by Galatian servants.

Unless, she thought, that was what masters like Gaston required. Her mouth twisted into a frown.

Rumple happened to dart a glance at her just then, figuring out who she was because he didn't recognize her. And he caught that petite mouth frowning . . . and looking at _him_. He couldn't fathom why she was giving him that look, unless she found him . . .distasteful . . . the way most noble Galatians id their magic born slaves. He clenched his jaw before he dropped his head again in meek acquiescence as he'd been forced to learn. But while his body bent, his rebellious mind seethed. _So, my fine lady, you don't like the Prytani any better than your Galatian host, eh? Maybe you think you're better than me—a mere bondservant? But once I was your equal, lady, hells I was the next First Mage Lord, the equivalent of a prince in your kingdom! And someday I shall be again . . . and then we'll see who sneers at whom, lady!_

He turned abruptly and went to assist his master on his horse, kneeling and holding out his cupped hands for Gaston to use as a mounting block. Gaston, with his normal disdain for Rumple, nearly crushed the mage's fingers when he stepped up on them.

Rumple gritted his teeth, only to catch a kick in the shoulder as Gaston settled upon his sleek brown hunter, an ill tempered horse named Demon.

"Watch what you're doing, lout!" Gaston sneered. "Good for nothing Prytani idiot!"

Rumple cringed on the ground, his hands and shoulder aching. "Sorry, master, sorry!" he said, making himself whine like a whipped dog. He hated that, but he had to act that way, otherwise Gaston would use his lack of respect to punish him with the collar.

Belle looked from the servant on the ground to Gaston and shook her head in disapproval. "Must you be so . . .harsh to him?"

"You don't understand, lady," Gaston said smoothly. "He's a Prytani. That's all they understand. They're as dumb as the sheep they herd and spin thread from!"

"But . . . isn't he one of . . .the Mage Lords?" Belle protested.

"Aye, he was!" Gaston laughed. "What of it?" He kicked his horse into a canter, forcing Belle to follow him, leaving Rumple there in the dust, and therefore he missed what Belle replied.

"I've always heard the Mage Lords were as well educated as some of our university professors," Belle refuted. She hadn't like the way Gaston had treated his servant at all.

Gaston gave a low chuckle. "Lady Belle, they might have been so, but where did all that fine book learning get them in the end? Nowhere but collared and conquered . . .it is might which carries the day, and there is no army so mighty as Galatia! We can rule the world if we choose."

Belle pursed her lips, wanting to refute him, but not daring to because she had to keep up cordial relations with George's nobles, no matter how much she despised this—prating peacock! _That isn't how I heard it. I heard you caught the Prytani by surprise, that they were betrayed from within by one of their own, else you'd never have made it past the palace defenses. And if they hadn't been asleep and fuzzy headed, and had a chance to fight back, you'd have been singing a different tune. And that poor man there wouldn't be crushed beneath your boot, you beast!_

For there was something that had drawn her to the servant in his modest livery, something still noble even though he was collared and another man's dogs body. Even with his hair shadowing his face, he still managed to maintain a kind of dignity, unlike the boor she was riding with, who seemed to like throwing his weight around. Belle despised bullies, especially boastful ones, and Gaston, no matter how good looking he was, deserved nothing but her scorn.

"What's your servant's name?" she queried.

"Why should you trouble yourself with that?" Gaston asked.

"Just curious. Has he got one?"

"He does. An outlandish one. Rumplestiltskin. But I prefer Rump . . . like a donkey's hind end!" Gaston said, and began to laugh loudly. He was so wrapped up in his mirth that he didn't even notice Belle was not joining him.

Instead Belle was gently guiding Delight down the game trail, her sapphire eyes dreamy. _Rumplestiltskin! How fine it is! How it rolls off the tongue impressively._

It was too bad, she thought, that she could not arrange to speak with this man, for she had a notion that he would provide far more rewarding conversation that Gaston, who was now bragging to her about all the hunts he'd been on.

Belle hid a yawn and wondered what today's quarry was.

**Page~*~*~*~*~*~Break**

_Several hours later:_

Later that evening, Regina brought Rumple two sets of men's clothing. Both sets sported what was now all the rage among the wealthy rakes and noble sons in Galatian—lace up leather pants.

The pants were not native to the city, but were another thing that the Galatians had stolen from the Prytani along with their rulers. It was a Prytani custom to have leather pants as part of a man's dress code, to show off their legs and provide their women with something new to look at during a gala or a celebration. Every Prytani male owned at least one set of them, some were finely stitched for certain feasts or occasions, like a wedding. The pants were accompanied by a loose flowing shirt of any color with a high collar, sometimes accented with trim, and sleeves that billowed and were gathered at the wrists. A leather vest matched the pants and it could be tooled or plain, or however the wearer wished.

Rumple had not worn a pair of leather pants since that horrid night. He had not been allowed to. But now . . . now he would do so . . . as part of his disguise.

Luckily, his children were sleeping, as it was late when Regina had come home from Ella's party. So that gave Rumple time to measure the clothing she'd brought and decide which ones to make over, since both were too large for his slender frame.

One shirt was cut similarly to a Prytani feast day shirt, with flowing sleeves gathered at the wrist, in an eyecatching deep gold color . . . but Rumple saw the shirt had a tear in it . . .as if someone had ripped it off its owner. And some of the buttons were loose. But at least it had a high collar. High enough to hide the bloody collar.

Rumple could add some trim to it.

The other shirt was seafoam green. Rumple didn't like the color, though it was in better condition than the gold one. Plus it would require more taking in around the shoulders and waist.

The gold one it was.

Then he eyed the vests, finding one that was of a deep maroon leather, that was tooled with a dragon design on the back, of a dragon flying and small flames licking up the sides. He liked it better than the brown one Regina had also procured, and began to gently pick out the stitching in the back to make it tighter, so it actually fit him.

Had he had access to his magic, he could have fixed the garments in a twinkling, but since he did not, he could do it by hand . . . and thanked his patient mother for showing him how to sew. All the Mage Lord families had other incomes besides their magic, the Golds manufactured textiles and clothing, the Mills had once been millers and bakers but then their industry changed to equestrian pursuits and horsebreeding, the Hatters were famous for their millinery products, and so forth.

He sewed late into the night, and as he did so, he thought about the expression on Belle's face. Was he really that . .. repulsive? He knew he wasn't conventionally handsome, but still Aurelia and Milah, that scurvy wench, hadn't found him ill to look on. Perhaps wearing the collar had changed him, he sighed.

But he would keep his end of the bargain, for he'd never broken a deal in his life. He would go to the winter gala and dance with Lady Belle, and perhaps dressed in these clothes, like the traditional ones of a gentleman of his homeland, she would not be adverse to a dance or two. Then his bargain would be fulfilled and Maleficent would give him the rest of the potion to cure Aileen.

_For my little spark, I would dance with death itself, if it meant saving her life,_ he vowed.

Then he went back to cutting apart the vest and redoing the stitching, his needle flashing in and out of the leather like a star fallen from the heavens in the light of the single lantern beside his cane rocking chair. Four days. He had four days to pull off the greatest deception ever, and he prayed to the good spirits he could do it. Because to fail would be inconceivable.

**A/N: Thanks everyone who has fvorited and read this, I hope you liked this first meeting between Rumple and Belle. Next up will be the results of the hunt Belle was on . . .. what happens there is important later on in the story and the preparations for the gala as seen through the eyes of both noble and servant. And george makes Maurice a rather startling offer.**


	4. Hunts and Offers

**4**

**Hunts and Offers**

Maurice, ambassador of Avonlea, paced uneasily outside the king's presence chamber. George's palace was not like the one his own monarchs, Phillip and Aurora, inhabited. Their palace was formed of lovely white and blue striated marble and bore works of art and mosaic tiled floors and brilliantly colored tapestries on the walls. George's palace, in contrast, was stark and functional, a fortress rather than a place to entertain, it stone walls covered with a few tapestries, mostly of grisly battles and hunts, depicting the triumphs of his army over the enemies of Galatia, a few statues here and there, and in the great hall were the shields and banners of his nobles, plus crossed racks of weapons, suits of armor, and the heads of slain animals, such as a great golden boar, a chimera, a white hart, a snarling wolf, bear, and huge wildcat.

"The only thing missing," he heard George and Gaston, his chief noble who was also his Hunt Master, lament. "Is a dragon's head. We've not been able to trap or slay one yet, but I vow we shall . . . soon."

Privately, Maurice thought it rather crass to display trophies like that in the hall, as if they were barbarians. Such things belonged in the armory or a hunting lodge, not where ladies had to have dead animals watching them as they ate. Small wonder the ladies did not stay in the hall after dinner, but retired to the solar upstairs, which was more congenial to them.

Maurice was waiting to see George, the king had requested a private audience with him, the ambassador supposed it was to discuss the trade alliance between Avonlea and Galatia, and since there was no bench to sit upon to wait, the ambassador was walking back and forth between the small beveled windows, which were almost like arrow slits in the walls. Smoky torches burned in sconces upon the walls and two guards in armor with pikes stood before the doors.

The ambassador was dressed to impress in his finest plum doublet and black hose with his gold buckled shoes and half cloak with the gold chain attaching it to his doublet with the slashes sleeves through which his gold shirt showed through. He wore a small velvet plum cap with a peacock feather in it and his hair was combed neatly. He wore his wedding ring on his finger, the only jewelry he had besides his gold pocket watch, which had been a gift from Belle.

The doors swung open and George's herald beckoned to him. Then he turned and announced, "Amabassdor Maurice, Lord Fleur de Lis of Avonlea is here to see you, sire!"

"You may approach," George beckoned lazily from his throne.

Maurice bowed as he stood before the King of Galatia. "Your Majesty."

George smiled, a oily smile, and indicated the herald should leave and shut the doors. The king was wearing a red velvet robe trimmed with expensive ermine and had on sleek leather pants and thigh high boots of dragonhide. He wore a glimmering golden crown upon his head and around his neck was a ruby cabochon the size of a plover's egg. His fingers were covered with many jeweled rings and he wore several bracelets as well.

"Ah, Amabassador! I'm delighted you could make this meeting on such short notice," he began pleasantly.

Maurice hid a shudder. He was reminded of a snake oil salesman peddling his cure alls. "Of course, sire. I but awaited your summons."

"Good!" George said. "Now, I know you've come here to discuss our trade agreement with Avonlea, and we shall get to that business presently. However," he folded his hands together and leaned forward, his pig-like eyes suddenly intense in his face. "There is something more . . .personal I would like to discuss first."

"And what would that be, sire?" Maurice asked nervously. He didn't like the way the king was looking at him.

"Well, you are of course aware that my last two wives died in childbirth and so did the babies, and my only son in a tragic accident, so I have no heir save my nephew David."

"Yes, of course. It's a great tragedy. I lost my own wife in childbirth—"

"I know," George waved him to silence. "Therefore you understand what a vital thing it is to have an heir of one's own blood . . .and David is my half-brother Miles' son, and for now the only kin I have left to inherit since Miles was killed at tourney some years hence." He cleared his throat. "Where is your lovely daughter, Fleur de Lis?"

"Belle?" Maurice was startled. "She's—she's hunting, sire. With your noble Lord Gaston."

"Ahh . . . so she likes to be outdoors then? Is she robust then?" George probed. "In good health? Is she fruitful?"

"Err . . . Belle has always been healthy as a horse."

"And she is yet unpledged to anyone, am I right?"

"Yes, sire. I . . . err . . .have not made a match with anyone for her hand yet. We were in mourning for my wife and son . . ."

"Good. Then if she is unpledged she is free to form an alliance with my House, no?" George was almost rubbing his hands together. "And she is how old—twenty?"

"Yes. Just this past summer." Maurice feared he knew where this was leading.

"Just the right age for bearing sons, not too young and flighty and not too old. I would like to propose an alliance between us, Maurice." The king began, looking eager.

Maurice thought he knew what the proposal was going to be. "Between my daughter and your nephew David, sire?"

George scowled. "David? That milksop? No, between Belle and _me_, Ambassador. I need an heir of _my_ body and your daughter is nubile and fertile, so I would like to propose a betrothal between her and me."

Maurice almost choked to death. Belle and King George! He had thought the king leaning in that direction with all his questions . . . but not for himself! George was over fifty, approaching fifty-six, and could have been Belle's father. He was a seasoned warrior, but with none of the qualities Maurice would have wanted for a son-in-law, despite his being king of Galatia. He was uncouth, disdained books, and was penny pinching and power hungry. And Belle would never be attracted to him, not for all the gold in Galatia.

"Sire . . .I . . . I don't know what to say . . ." he stammered. "It's a great honor . . .might I have time to . . .speak to my daughter about it?"

He had to stall for time . . .and he didn't know quite what to do about this unexpected—and unwelcome—proposal! He didn't dare refuse outright, because to do so would be to insult Galatia and ruin any hopes of a trade alliance and might even make George declare war on his country. But he also couldn't bear to bind his only daughter to this—this old lecher-whom it was rumored rutted with his wives so much that they died to escape his attentions.

"You may . . . but know I shall announce my intentions at the winter gala. I believe it the proper time to celebrate such a thing!" George guffawed.

"Yes, of course. I shall inform my daughter of your gracious offer . . ." Maurice said, and then prayed Belle didn't flee the country. "And now, sire, might I propose the following trade agreement . . .?"

He prayed he could wrangle an advantageous agreement out of the king before he broke the news to his poor daughter. _I should have left her at home. This is what happens when you have a lecherous old king who sees a new pretty face. Oh, Belle, I'm so sorry . . ._

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Meanwhile, the servants were scrubbing the ballroom of the palace until it gleamed. Rumple was on his hands and knees with a stiff brush and some lemon and lye soap scrubbing the floor, making the old wood shine like new. Later it would be waxed and buffed to a high gloss, but for now his job was to make it clean, a not so easy task as it had gotten scuffed and dirty from all the banquets the nobles held there.

Other servants were beating the drapes outside, as the ballroom featured large floor to ceiling windows and still others were polishing the candelabras and dusting the chandeliers which would be lit by mage lights especially for the occasion, because David had convinced the king that it would be cheaper to do so then spend money on candles. Still others were polishing the silverware and waxing the side board and tables with beeswax.

Rumple knew that the maids and so forth were busy cleaning the rooms and plumping the feather and beating the straw ticks and strewing the beds with fleabane powder and fresh herbs on the rushes on the floor in the great hall.

Everything must be perfect for the winter gala, he thought acidly, and scrubbed the wood as if he was possessed. He imagined the wood was Gaston's face and he was scrubbing the arrogant evil smirk from it. He didn't mind the manual labor, in Prytainia even the Mage Lords were not above learning an honest trade or doing work, and as a young boy, Rumple had chores to do the same as most common lads in Prytainia. What he did mind was that all his hard work was for these simpering arrogant Galatian fops and he detested everything they stood for.

And yet, for one night, he would have to prance among them, the mysterious guest at the feast, and dance with a lady. If he could pull off the deception.

He sighed, and imagined himself back in his humble cottage with the kettle on and singing silly songs with Bae and Aileen.

His hands ached from scrubbing and from the harsh lye soap, but he didn't stop his task. If he were caught slacking, as Gaston called it, he would feel the wrath of the noble through the collar.

As he scrubbed he thought about the rest of the work he had left to do on his outfit and wished he could use his magic to help him. Not using his magic when he wished was wearing on him emotionally, for as a Mage Lord he was accustomed to using it when and where he wished, and for a mage not using magic was like a bird not flying.

He thought again of Gaston and hoped whatever quarry he was hunting got away from him.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

On her estate, Ella was complaining and pouting when Regina pulled the strings of her corset too tight. "You stupid cow!" she grouched. "I can barely draw breath!"

"Forgive me, milady," Regina apologized. "But I have to do this . . . otherwise your gown will not be able to be buttoned." _If you didn't indulge yourself every night with parties and drinks and rich food, you wouldn't be putting on weight and need to be squeezed like a fat pig into this stupid cage!_ She thought coldly.

Her blond haired mistress was pretty, if you like the golden wheat haired blue eyed milkmaid type, she sneered. But no amount of face paint or hair styles could take away the fact that Ella was an insipid prig who giggled and couldn't hole a conversation about anything save gossiping about her peers and who was having and affair with such and such a lord.

It had taken Regina fifteen minutes to lay out her spoiled mistress's gowns for the ball and have her throw a fit when she couldn't fit into the blue velvet one. Finally she insisted Regina alter it with magic, a simple thing to do, and Regina wished she could make it transparent and have Ella parade herself naked into the ballroom like the whore she was.

But of course, she was forbidden to use her magic unless specifically commanded by her mistress.

Gritting her teeth, Regina tied the laces on the bone corset and helped Ella into her day gown, a frothy pink thing that made the woman look like a walking cupcake.

Regina just hoped that Henry was able to get the half day off and spend some time with her tonight. Her son was one of her only joys in her bleak new life . . . that and plotting rebellion with Rumple and the other Mage Lords she had contacted secretly, like Jefferson and Ruby.

Now if only there were a way to get these bloody collars off, she would show these pathetic Galatians what a true Mage Lord could do!

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Gaston drew his long bow, aiming his squid ink tipped arrow with its armor-piercing triangular head at his quarry. His legs were clamped like iron bands around Demons barrel, as the horse was skittish and sweating this close to the cave where their quarry resided.

Belle was a few feet back from him, soothing Delight, who was almost hysterical, as was any animal with sense this close to a dragon's lair.

The ambassador's daughter clutched her little bow in numb fingers and prayed to the gods and goddess of the hunt that they keep her safe. Had she known this was the quarry Gaston intended to hunt today she would have refused his offer. But it was too late now, and all she could do was try and control her mount.

Suddenly there was a soft hiss, like a teakettle boiling over, and then a small snout emerged from the cave.

It was followed by a wedge shaped head with gleaming gold scales and a long slender body with small wings pressed close to its back. It had four clawed feet and a long whip like tail.

Belle gasped. It was a baby gold dragon—a rare species and it had huge inquisitive violet eyes that looked curiously at her. She had read about such creatures in her books, but had never thought to see one. Gold dragons were quite magical, though shy and reclusive.

The little dragon made a soft meeping noise and another one, this one slightly larger and with crystal blue eyes and darker golden scales also came out of the cave.

"Oh! How beautiful!" Belle whispered. Then she saw what Gaston was about to do. "No!" she whimpered. She urged Delight forward, to try and stop what was about to happen.

Too late.

Gaston released the arrow.

It flew straight into the breast of the larger dragonet. The little golden creature screamed in agony before it died, and Belle found tears streaking her cheeks.

"Gaston! Stop!" she cried.

"Why?" he laughed. "This is what I came here for . . . to hunt these miserable creatures. They are a plague upon humankind and deserve death!" He nocked another arrow and shot it, and killed the second dragonet just as his had its siblings.

Belle felt ill. She could not comprehend how Gaston could do such a thing.

Worse, the tall noble was now dismounting and drawing a long hunting knife from his belt.

She watched in horror as he went and skinned the two dragonets, and cut off their heads as a trophy.

It was then that she turned and heeled Delight, running back down the trail towards the palace. Halfway there she pulled up as she lost her battle with her stomach and threw up. She was not a squeamish maiden, but the lovely violet eyes of the dragonet had looked at her before it had died, and in those eyes had been curiosity and intelligence, and now it was dead, snuffed out like a candle.

She retched until she threw up bile, then she rode back to the palace, pale and shaking.

She made it back to the stableyard and nearly fell off Delight. Normally she would have tended her horse herself, but she felt so ill she just wanted to lie down.

A sun browned hand took the reins from her and a voice, softly accented with a Prytani lilt, asked, "My lady, you look ill. Are you well?"

She looked up, to see Gaston's servant with the unkempt hair holding Delight's reins. His hair was still obscuring his eyes but she found the soft tone of his voice soothing. And all of a sudden she was crying.

Alarmed, Rumple asked, "Lady, are you in pain? If so, I can summon a physician." _Gods, if she's hurt and I'm blamed for it . . . Gaston will flay the hide from me. _"Lady, please . . ."

Belle sniffled. "No . . .I'm not hurt . . .I'm just upset . . .he . . . he _killed_ them."

"Them? A deer?" Rumple guessed. "Birds? Milord usually kills something when he hunts." He wondered at the woman, weeping over game when she had willingly gone on a hunt.

But then Belle murmured, "No, nothing like that. I'm not a ninny. But he . . . he killed a gold dragon! Two of them! Babies!" She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. "Maybe you think I'm being a frazzleheaded ninny, but . . . they were _dragons_ . . . and one _looked_ at me . . . before he killed it."

Rumple was appalled. "Gaston killed a gold dragonet? Two of them?"

"Yes, and I tried to stop him . . .but I couldn't!" Belle wept.

"I'm not surprised, lady. Only knocking him senseless has ever kept that one from killing," Rumple said bitterly. "But what he has done . . . is sacrilege! The gold dragons are the most magical of creatures and to kill one, especially a young one . . . we Prytani would never dream of such a thing."

"I don't understand why he even wanted to kill one . . . except . . . he said they were abominations and deserved death . . ."

"That's his reason for anything he does . . .but there will be a reckoning for this, lady. Mark my words . . . when the dragonets' mother finds out . . .she shall come hunting the one who killed her young . . ." Rumple declared darkly.

Belle shivered. "But that would mean . . ."

"Yes. We are all in danger," the Prytani nodded. "Shall I escort you to your room, lady?"

"No. I . . . I can find the way. But . . . thank you for your concern, sir." Belle said. "Would you see to my horse? I think . . . I need to lie down."

"Yes, you look rather pale. Perhaps you ought to drink some mulled wine, milady?" he suggested. "And I will take care of your mare."

Belle smiled at him. "Thank you."

"You needn't thank me. I'm just a slave," Rumple said, dipping his head.

"You may be a slave now, but you . .. are far kinder than your master," Belle said.

"My master has no manners," Rumple sneered. "And he holds nothing sacred save himself and his weapons. Good day, Lady Belle." He bowed to her and led Delight away, saying, "Come now, dearie, and I'll give you a nice bran mash and a rub down . . ."

Belle hurried across the yard, her heart cold within her. _I must find my father. If he was right . . . we are all in grave peril . . ._ But even as she thought it, her mind was replaying her conversation with the man known as Rumplestiltskin in her head, and taking comfort from his mellifluous voice, like velvet honey, and it made her feel warm down to her toes, despite her fear that they would all be roasted alive once the mother dragon returned and found her offspring dead.

In the stable, Rumple untacked the mare and thought about the reaction of her mistress. If a woman could weep over the death of a gold dragonet, perhaps he had misjudged her . . .perhaps . . . of course all of that could be moot if the dragon attacked . . . and he cursed Gaston roundly in his head for a stupid scumsucking ass.

**A/N: Hope you liked this chapter! The dance is coming up . . .will Belle recognize Rumple? And what will happen if the mother dragon attacks the city? **

**I also have two other Cover Bunnies stories one called Return to Neverland and the other called Unexpected Surprise, please check them out if you like this one! All of them are for a contest on FB where you are given a cover featuring Rumbelle and have to make a story from it, with the title given. Return to Neverland features a soldier Rumple suffering from PTSD and a Mind Healer Belle who is his therapist. And Unexpected Surprise features a Belle who is barren yet somehow manages to get pregnant and her husband Rumple, who also starts suffering sympathetic pregnancy symptoms due to his bond with her. **


	5. Charmed Circle

**5**

**Charmed Circle**

Belle went straight to her room and wanted to lie down. She felt tainted by her part in the hunt, though she had done nothing at all save watch helplessly while Gaston killed the poor dragonets. _There will be a reckoning,_ she thought grimly, for the mother dragon would not let the murder of her babies go unpunished. Belle just prayed the dragon didn't decide to lay waste to Galatia in her fury. Gaston didn't know what he had awakened.

"Back so soon from your ride, milady?" Brianna greeted her when she appeared in the doorway.

"Brianna, can you just . . . help me out of this? I . . . don't feel well. I need to lie down," Belle said.

As Brianna helped her undress, the maid observed how pale her mistress was and asked, "Are you feeling sick? Would you like some mulled wine?"

"Yes, that would be fine," Belle said, relived to get out of her riding habit and into a more comfortable day dress without such tight lacing. Then, unable to keep quiet any longer, she blurted, "Gaston went after magical quarry today and killed two gold dragonets, the fool!"

Brianna put a hand to her mouth. "How horrible! Why would anyone want to kill a gold dragon?" The gold dragons were messengers of good, and often helped people with their magic. To kill one for nothing, for sport, was a horrible thing. "And the king . . . what does he say?"

"Who knows? But Gaston was pleased as punch and not worried about his monarch's wrath, and everyone knows how George hates dragons since his son died slaying one," Belle said disparagingly. "So he'll probably pat him on the back for it . . .but he won't be so happy when the mother dragon comes and attacks."

Brianna made the sign to ward off danger. "May the gods have mercy! No wonder you came back looking like your best friend died. I'll get your wine, Lady Belle. You just rest."

She bustled out of the room, leaving Belle to sit and ponder what she ought to tell her father. She hoped the trade agreement had gone well. Avonlea, unfortunately, needed it.

Her thoughts turned then to Rumple, the Prytani who had helped her with her mare and seemed so concerned about her. Far more so than his master, who couldn't even be bothered to ask if Belle were all right before skinning his catch . . . and who was probably celebrating with his fellow knights in the hall.

Her hands clenched upon the covers as she rested, a mass of nerves as she imagined the gold dragon grieving and then coming to torch the city for Gaston's prideful cruelty. She couldn't see how this day could possibly get any worse.

Until Maurice came in with Brianna, and after the maid had given her the posset, waved the servant away, asking her to go back to the kitchens and bring up a light luncheon for them.

When Brianna had departed, Maurice shut the door and sat down on the bed and whispered, "I must tell you some grave news, Belle. You see, George and I discussed more than just a trade agreement this afternoon . . . he wishes me to betroth you to him . . ."

Belle was both revolted and horrified. "He . . . he wants to _what_? Papa, that's crazy! That lecherous old fart wants to marry me? He doesn't even _know_ me. He saw me once when we came here and hasn't seen me since. He's old enough to be my father, but that's not my only objection. He's . . .he's a loathsome individual—he ordered the massacre of an entire kingdom's rulers and enslaved them . . . how could he think I'd _ever_ want to marry a man like that?"

"I know, dear. But . . . you cannot outright refuse him, Belle. He could have us both locked up or killed." Maurice wrung his hands. "He . . . he plans to announce the betrothal tomorrow . . . at the gala."

"Just like that? He didn't even _ask_ me!" Belle was outraged.

"He asked me. Told me, rather. And in Galatia, a woman has no say over her marriage. . . it's all decided by her closest male relations."

"Well, that's not how it's done in Avonlea!"

"Yes, but we're not in Avonlea, Belle. Please . . . for all our sakes . . . pretend to go along with him tomorrow night." Maurice wrung his hands.

"And afterwards?"

"Afterwards I'll figure a way to get you out of it. I promise. I don't want you to marry him any more than you do." Maurice looked disgusted. "Some of the tales I've heard . . . they're not fit for your ears . . ."

"Something else has happened, Papa . . ." Belle related the slaying of the gold dragonets.

Maurice groaned. "Out of the frying pan into the fire. I hope George has ways to fireproof the city."

"Me too . . . or else we'll all roast in our beds," Belle shivered, and sipped her mulled wine.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Rumple had just finished taking care of Delight while cursing his absent master to the four winds, when Gaston rode up on Demon. The horse was sweating and hot, and Gaston jumped off and tossed the reins to Rumple, grabbed the rolled up blanket with the dragon hides and heads and ordered, "See to my horse, slave. When you're done, attend me. I need my boots polished and my clothes laid out for the feast in my honor tonight."

"There's to be a feast, master," Rumple said, keeping his eyes on the ground. "I hadn't heard."

"Well, there will be, when George hears what I just bagged!" Gaston guffawed. He slapped Demon on the shoulder. "Take care of my horse, Rump!"

Slinging the bundle over his brawny shoulder, he clomped off.

Rumple gave him a sneer, then took the stallion and began walking him around the yard, loosening the saddle and removing the cruel spiked curb bit from his mouth.

Demon whinnied and shook his head once the bit was removed, and bloody froth flew from his mouth.

"Ahh, easy there, boy. I know that wretched bit hurts, but the idiot that rides you thinks he needs it to control you," Rumple soothed, patting the arched neck. "He treats his horses like he does his boots."

The stallion was high strung and impatient, but then he was bred for hunting and unfortunately had gotten the reputation of being uncontrollable because he had a sensitive mouth and hated being yanked about by riders. So he got into the habit of bucking and kicking, and was labeled a "demon" horse, hence the name.

Gaston had "tamed" him by being brutally harsh with him, and the horse obeyed him out of fear, but like Rumple, detested the knight. Rumple had taken over the stallion's care after catching one of the Galatian stable boys hitting the horse with a broom, and informed the little wretch that his master had ordered him to take care of the horse and would be very unhappy if he saw what had gone on.

Since most everyone in the City knew Gaston's nasty reputation, the boy backed off, and Rumple had taken care of the black horse ever since.

After the horse had cooled out somewhat, Rumple allowed him to drink some tepid water and then led him back into his stall. He soaked a small sponge in water and made a paste of baking soda, and gently applied it to the stallion's cut mouth.

"Easy, dearie. This'll help," he crooned as the horse tried to spit out the sponge.

"One o' these days, that horse is gonna bite ye, Rumple," stated a stablehand. "Specially iffen ye keep stickin' yer fingers in his mouth."

"His mouth is cut, I'm putting some medicine on it," Rumple informed the boy. "And he knows better than to bite me, since I take care of him."

He patted the horse's sleek neck and began to rub him down, having learned from Regina how to take care of a horse and handle the more temperamental ones.

The stallion whickered softly and lipped Rumple's hair as he groomed him, displaying more affection to the Prytani than he ever did his knight master. Rumple gently pushed the black muzzle away. "Hey, none of that now, my hair's already a wreck as it," he told the horse. "Behave, Sirocco."

That was his special name for the stallion, spoken lovingly in the Old Tongue of the Prytani Namers, of which Rumple was one. The Namers were mages with a special gift for naming things and knowing the True Names of people, animals, and places. He had known when he first heard the horse's name, Demon in Galatian, that it was the wrong name for such an animal. And so he had spent time with the horse and learned its True Name—Sirocco—the hot desert wind, that sweeps all in its path.

When he called the stallion that, the horse listened, but he never used the stallion's name to command the horse to do anything other than settle down if needed, such as when the farrier came to shoe him or Rumple needed to doctor him. Sirocco, however, loved the former Mage Lord, and would permit Rumple liberties he did no one else.

Rumple finished rubbing the horse down, picked out his hooves, and asked the stableboy, Killian, to bring him a hot mash for the stallion. "Make sure you add extra molasses. And don't skimp on the bran, this is Lord Gaston's stallion, and is to be kept in top condition."

Killian scampered off, he actually liked Rumple, and was happy to do tasks for him, since Rumple had saved him from a beating one day by finding a troublesome pony who had unlatched his stall and wandered away. Meanwhile, Rumple combed Sirocco's mane free of tangles and hummed an old cradle song he'd sung to his children when they were both tiny, relaxing the stallion.

"Here ya go, Rumple," Killian came back, lugging the bucket with the mash in it.

Rumple stirred it with a long stirrer, then tested it with a finger. "Not too hot. Good work. Let me get him some alfalfa and he'll be set."

He forked in some of the sweet hay and then gave the stallion the mash, pouring it into his feed trough.

Sirocco buried his head in the mash and began eating.

The Prytani gave the horse a final pat and then latched the door. "See you, lad."

He waved at Killian, then departed, going to Gaston's suite to set out his clothes.

He had just finished polishing the man's boots when he felt a summons through the collar.

Sighing, he went to answer it. A Galatian could call his Prytani servant from anywhere and the servant was bound to come to him, even waking from a deep sleep if necessary.

He found Gaston standing upon one of the City's ramparts, the large ledge of the wall that surrounded it, peering out at the wilderness beyond.

"Master, you called me?"

Gaston turned around . . . and in his arms was Aileen. "Papa!" the child whimpered.

"Master . . . what . . . what are you doing with my child!" Rumple cried, his heart seizing with dread.

"Making sure you do what I tell you," the other man said bluntly. And he drew a wicked long knife from his belt and pressed it against the child's throat. "Be still, brat! Or else I'll carve you a ruby necklace!"

"But . . . Master . . . I have to do what you tell me," Rumple cried, horrified. "Why would you need my daughter?"

"Because I feel like it! Incentive!" sneered the knight.

Aileen started to cry.

"Okay! Just don't hurt her!" Rumple said, thinking the man's sadistic tendencies had no bounds. "What do you wish, milord?"

"I have just been informed by the Ambassador of Avonlea that the mother of the dragonets I killed might well be hunting me in retaliation, the bloody beast! Therefore, I want _you_, Rump, to cast a spell to shield me from the dragon's senses, both mundane and magical."

Rumple coughed. "I shall try, Master." He had never tried to create a web to shield a person from such a strong magical creature before, but he knew he couldn't fail.

Aileen shivered and whined, scared to death.

Rumple lowered his head and concentrated, feeling the collar's urging whining a siren call through him. He called upon his magic, feeling it come at his summons in a wash of golden sparkles.

He wove the raw power inbetween his fingers, spinning a web with his mind and hands, creating a net of magic that glistened like a spider web filled with dew. He infused it with spells for concealment and then flung it over Gaston, watching as it settled like a cloak over the knight.

"Tis done, Master. Now please, may I have my child?"

Gaston laughed. He sheathed the dagger. "Take the puling brat!" He dropped Aileen callously to the ground.

The child fell to the stones before Rumple could catch her, scraping her knees.

Rumple ran to her and scooped her up, muffling her howls in his tunic. "Master . . . may I go and tend to her?"

"Get! And take the brat with you!" Gaston ordered. "Just be back in time for the feast!"

Rumple nodded and rushed away, cursing his master in his head. "Hush, dearie. Papa will fix you," he crooned.

He brought Aileen back to his hut, wondering where Bae was.

Then the little boy came out of the house of one of their Galatian neighbors. "Papa! A big guard came and took Aileen . . .oh, you got her back! Why's she crying?"

"Because she scraped her knees when Lord Gaston dropped her," Rumple replied. "Get me some water, please."

Bae went and fetched him a basin of water from the rain barrel.

Rumple gently cuddled his crying daughter, murmuring, "Okay, dearie. Let me just clean these."

"Owww!" she screeched as he gently washed the scrapes with water and some soap.

"I know, I'm so sorry," he said. "Here, look, I'll blow on it," he soothed, and did so.

He kissed her head and hugged her, rocking her until she quit crying. He hated that he couldn't do anything for her with his magic and had to use it instead on the cruel beast who had slaughtered innocent dragons and used his baby girl as leverage against him and hurt her in his sadistic games. _Someday, there shall be a reckoning, Galatian! And on that day I shall spin a web of destruction that will burn you to a crisp!_

"Papa, why did milord Gaston hurt Aileen?" asked Bae, his small face puzzled.

"Because he felt like it," Rumple replied bluntly.

Bae scowled. "He's mean!"

"Mean!" Aileen echoed, snuggling into Rumple.

He carded her hair. "Yes, he is. But you must never say that except at home with me, understand?"

Bae nodded.

Aillen looked up at him, her eyes wet in her heart shaped face. "Why?"

"Because it's a secret," he murmured. "And what do we do with secrets?"

"Shhh!" Aileen put her finger to her lips.

"Very good, dearie!" he praised. "Now, let's have supper." He reached into a pouch at his waist and withdrew three somewhat cold meat pasties and two apple turnovers he'd gotten from the kitchens. He heated them over the fire on a trivet along with some tea and they ate.

"Papa, where's your turnover?" Bae asked, noticing he didn't have one.

"I don't need one. I got them for you and Aileen."

"You oughta have some dessert too," Bae insisted, and gave him half of the turnover.

"Bae, I'm fine," his father protested.

"Eat, Papa!" Aileen ordered, and broke off a piece of hers and stuffed it into Rumple's mouth.

"Okay, spark!" he said, nearly choking. "Take it easy!"

But he had to admit the turnover tasted wonderful.

After he'd fed the children, he regretfully brought them back over to Liza's cottage, since Regina would be serving Ella tonight at the feast, just as he would Gaston.

"Now you two be good for Mistress Liza and I'll be back tonight," he said, and helped the children into their night clothes and tucked them into the little pallet together on the floor.

"Sing, Papa!" Aileen begged.

"All right, spark. Now close your eyes," he ordered gently, and began to sing in his soft tenor. "Way down in the valley, where the cottonwoods grow, listen to the wind, and hear the wind blow, soft and low, soft and low, down in the valley, where the cottonwoods grow. Follow the wind, my little one, across the valley, where the sheep go, to and fro, to and fro, follow the wind, little one, where the sheep go, way down in the valley where the cottonwoods grow. See the pink larkspur, bloom and grow, bloom and grow, forever, way down in the valley, where the cottonwoods grow."

As he sang the last refrain of the song, he saw his children had fallen asleep. He bent and kissed them tenderly upon the cheek, then he rose to his feet and said, "I'll be back after this banquet."

"Don't worry, I'll watch over them," Liza assured him.

Rumple nodded, then went to wash up and get into his livery.

As he changed, he examined the finished suit of clothing beneath his pallet. There was only one other thing he had to make—a small mask, to disguise his features, since it was common for guests at the winter gala to go masked until midnight, when they would "reveal" themselves.

Of course by then he would vanish, leaving as quickly as he had come, and his bargain with Mal would be fulfilled.

Sighing, he went and brushed off his livery and made his way to the palace.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Belle picked at her roast swan and pheasant, her appetite deserting her as she sat next to her father. She drank of the water wine Brianna poured for her, and tried to count the hours till she could retire. George and his court drank copious amounts of wine in toasts to Gaston and his prowess of a hunter.

It made Belle sick to see the heads and hides of the gold dragons upon the wall, as if it were a wonderful thing to have killed helpless babies. She turned her gaze away, and saw the row of Prytani servants standing along the wall behind their Galatian masters, their collars shining in the light of the wall sconces.

She thought she recognized Rumple among them, in Gaston's livery, but wasn't sure . . . until she caught him staring up at the wall with the dragon heads on it, his lips twisted in revulsion.

Abruptly, he turned away, looking down at his feet.

Belle shook her head. He looked as disgusted as I feel, she thought. And then her thoughts turned to the book she had found in the library the other day.

It had been a book on the history of certain objects of Galatia . . . and it had mentioned the jeweled collars of Lashiyana. Lashiyana had made them to control criminals with magical powers, but George had resurrected them and used them to control the Prytani. But the book had mentioned one interesting fact.

The collars were all controlled by a master collar.

And the one who held the master collar . . .could control all the others.

Belle wondered who had the master collar. If she found that, she could free the Prytani from their slavery.

She eyed the king, who had gravy dripping onto his doublet and his fingers greasy with the meat he had eaten. He disgusted her . . .yet she wondered if he had the master collar.

Rumple watched the main table where his master sat. He noticed, as he did everything, that Belle sat and picked at her food, as disgusted as he was about the reason for this feast. He eyed her through his screening curtain of hair, noting how she sipped her wine and her eyes seemed to ponder something.

What secrets are you thinking of, lady, behind those cobalt eyes? he wondered. For he sensed Belle was different from the others he had known. She was not as class conscious as a Galatian lady, and far more compassionate than any noble he had known since coming to this forsaken land.

He hid a yawn behind his hand, and surreptitiously saw Regina do so also. He winked at her.

This feast seemed endless, but Rumple knew it was nothing compared to the winter gala. Which he would attend tomorrow, to fulfill the deal he'd made with Maleficent. And then his little spark would be cured. And he could go on plotting the Galatians downfall.

But one thing stood in his way . . .the same thing that had stymied him since the beginning of his captivity. How to remove the collars of obedience. If he could figure out that . . .then the Spinner Revolution would truly be a force to be reckoned with.

But none of the common folk seemed to know the answer . . .or any of the nobles. And Rumple was forbidden access to the library, by his master's command. All the Prytani were. Once scholars of renown, now they were forbidden to read any books or scrolls, save what was permitted by their master.

Rumple was certain that had he been able to enter the library, the answers he sought would be inside.

He was also certain it was why Gaston had forbidden it.

He slid his eyes up to the wall where the gold dragon heads were mounted, and thought that like the Prytani, the gold dragons were a dying breed. And unless something were done soon, they would vanish from existence.

He thought again of what Gaston had made him do, and once again he loathed himself, protecting a monster, even though he had no choice at all.

Then he remembered something else. He had protected Gaston as he had requested. But the spell was not permanent. It was finite and it would fade. And once it did . . . perhaps the mother dragon would find her children's murderer.

Rumple smiled quietly. Perhaps justice would be served after all.


	6. Dance

**6**

**Dance**

Early that morning, Regina came and tapped on Rumple's door. He opened it immediately, whispering, "Come inside, dearie. What news do you have?"

"I spoke to Jeff the other day. He and Henry have gone around the walls of the City and set the charges down. If we ever get these collars off, we can set them off and blow the walls sky high," she murmured.

"A big if, dearie. I've been searching for a way to remove them since I had one on," he frowned. "But without access to a library, my efforts are like spit in the wind."

"I know. If only we had someone we could trust who could get access to the King's library," Regina mused. "What about Mal's servant—Raven?"

Rumple shook his head. "He's Prytani, though not collared. They'd never let him in. And he couldn't even sneak in, there are wards that will detect him, and if he's caught, he'll end up executed for trying to steal forbidden information or something. What else? Have you heard from the forest folk yet?"

"Got a pigeon from Graham," Regina nodded. "He says his people are all in place."

Unbeknownst to George and the members of his court, not all the Prytani mages had been captured ad collared, only the most obvious ones. There was another group who had escaped the purge that night, mostly because they weren't in human form when the Galataians attacked, and had been off in the forest surrounding the valley, hunting and so forth. They were the Forest Mages, and most of them were shifters, able to change form at will, and they communed with nature. A Forest Mage came rarely into a walled city, they detested them, and preferred open ground.

Graham and his wife Ruby were the leaders of the Forest Mages, able to become wolves at will, and most of their clan were shifters too. They had come too late to save their Mage Lord kin, but had been mounting a resistance since then, and had gathered an army of the remaining Prytani deep in the forest. The army's captain was Robin Locksley, who was Regina's former house guard, he'd escaped the purge because he was out hunting that night, accompanied by his son Roland. His wife, Marian, had been back at the Mills residence, however, and had been killed along with the others. Locksley had sworn a blood oath against George and his people, and he had gathered the rest of the Prytani warriors and hunters who remained in their small kingdom and organized them, joining up with Graham some three months after the massacre.

"What did you give them as a signal?"

"I told him when he saw the smoke from the rubble of the walls, that would be the signal to attack," Regina replied. Her mouth twisted into a grim smile. "Those oafs won't know what hit them. They think themselves safe behind their walls, with us collared slaves. Ha! I can't wait to see my mistress running from a pack of wolves, all her finery in shreds and knowing she has but moments left to live before she's torn to pieces!"

Rumple nodded. "I understand your hatred, Regina. I've wished that fate many a time on Gaston. But be careful, dearie, that you don't let your revenge control you. All things in Balance, remember?"

"I know, Rumple! Don't quote the Laws at me!" she sighed.

Just then Bae woke up. "Papa, why's Aunt Gina here?"

"Uh, well, she—" Rumple fumbled to come up with a reason to explain her presence so early in the morning.

"I'm here to have breakfast with you, Bae," Regina intercepted smoothly.

"Yay! Papa, what're we havin'?" he shrilled.

His voice woke up Aileen. The child opened her eyes, yawed, and said crankily, "Shuddup, Bae!"

"Cornmeal mush," Rumple replied, which was what they ate nearly every morning.

"Aww!" Bae groaned. "I wanted bacon!"

"But look, I brought some nice golden apples," Regina said, producing three apples from her pocket. They were Galatian, of course, and nowhere near as good as the ones she used to grow back home in her orchard, but they were better than nothing.

"Yay, apples!" Bae cheered.

Aileen scowled. "Bae, you's wakin' me up!"

"Sounds like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Rumple coughed. He went to kneel next to his cranky child. "Spark, what's wrong?"

"M' sleepy!" she said crossly, pouting. "N' Bae won't shuddup!"

"I can talk if I want to! You ain't my boss, Aileen Gold!" her brother snapped.

"Hey, that's not how you ask people," Rumple scolded. He took her chin in his hand and made her look at him. "You say, please be quiet, not tell someone to shut up. Understand?"

The child gave him a sulky nod. Then she wound her arms about his neck. "Hold me. Pweease!"

He picked her up. "Okay, spark. Look, Aunt Gina's here."

That perked her up. "I say hi!"

Rumple brought her over to where Regina was standing by the hearth and let Aileen hug the older woman. "Hi, Aunt Gina!"

"Hello, spark." Regina hugged the child back. "Look, I brought you apples for breakfast."

Aileen clapped her hands. "Mmm! I likes them!"

Rumple smiled. His daughter wriggled in his grasp. "Papa, down! Gotta go potty."

He set her down, and she ran behind the small screen to use the chamber pot located there. "Good girl!" he praised, then helped her wash her hands afterwards.

Regina cut up the apples into slices and Rumple dished up the cornmeal mush, which he'd flavored with honey and some almonds and raisins. They all had cups of cold cider, because the Prytani weren't allowed coffee and Rumple had run out of tea last night.

As they ate, Bae said, "Aunt Gina, can you tell us the story of your enchanted apple tree?"

"I wanna hear about the 'chanted apple tree!" Aileen cried excitedly.

"Please," Rumple reminded her. "Please may I hear about the enchanted apple tree?" He was quietly instilling in her the manners all Prytani were taught as small children.

"Pwease may I hear 'bout the 'chanted apple tree?" Aileen lisped, and received a nod of approval and a "Good job, dearie!" from her father.

"You may," Regina said, and she began. "I had a special tree in my orchard back in Prytainia . . .and it was tall and straight and bore apples of the sweetest flavor and crunchy texture and they were red as heart's blood and shiny. The apples on the north side of the tree were enchanted to put someone in a deep sleep, almost like they'd died, and the apples on the east side of the tree were enchanted to make people forget who they were for a time. But the apples on the west side of the tree healed all sicknesses, and the apples on the south side of the tree granted one the ability to fly. And sometimes I would send Henry out to pick the apples, and put them in special baskets for me. Oh, how I miss my enchanted apples!"

"Do you think the tree's still there?" asked Bae. "Or did the Galatians cut it down?"

"Oh, it's still there." Regina said. "I would know if it were destroyed. But now there's no one to pick the apples and put them in their correct baskets."

"If I were there, I could pick 'em!" Bae cried.

"Me too! Me too!" Aileen seconded.

Bae rolled his eyes. "Mini me too!" he teased. "You always wanna do everything I do."

Aileen nodded. Then she threw her arms around her brother. "Cause I love my Bae!"

"Aww! Love you too, spark," he laughed, and kissed her little cheek.

Regina smiled. "They get along so well together."

Rumple coughed. "Mostly. But they do fight like cats and dogs on occasion. Especially when Aileen wants to do something that she's too little for and Bae won't let her."

"Then she throws a fit," Bae said.

"I not, Bae!" the little girl objected.

"Not now . . .before . . .when you're being a brat," he informed her loftily.

She scowled at him. "I is _not _a brat, Bae-fire!" she snapped. That was how she pronounced his name, since she sometimes forgot the L.

"Are too. You are whenever you don't get what you want."

"Are not!"

"See what I mean?" he gestured to the arguing tots. "All right, enough, you two!" he ordered, giving them a Look.

They stopped quarreling.

Regina chuckled. "I remember getting that a time or two from my parents."

"A time or two, Regina?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"All right . . . a lot," she amended. "But you weren't perfect either, Rumple."

"Never claimed I was, dearie, " he chuckled.

After Regina left to tend to her mistress, Rumple concentrated on sewing the mask he needed for his face. It was a shimmery gold one with a black outline around the eyes, and it had scales on it. . . almost like a dragon's . . . or a crocodile's.

He had just finished sewing the border around one eye hole when he heard his children fighting.

"Aileen! You can't have it!" Bae was yelling.

"Gimme it, Bae! I wanna draw too!" she was hollering and trying to grab the stick of charcoal he had in his hand that he was sketching with.

"No!" he shouted, exasperated. "You're gonna eat it like you did last time. Now go away and quit bothering me!"

"Bae!" she whined. "I wanna draw! I'm tellin'! PAPA! Bae's mean!"

"Am not! Papa, tell her to get outta my face!" Bae cried angrily.

"What is going on over here?" Rumple demanded. He set down his sewing and rose to see what was causing his children to behave like they wanted to kill each other.

"Papa, Aileen keeps trying to take my charcoal pencil!" his son told him.

"Papa, I wanna draw an' Bae's mean!" his youngest pouted.

Rumple picked up his daughter. "Aileen Gold, you're too little to draw with charcoal," he began. He set her down on the opposite side of the table with another piece of scrap paper. "Here, spark. You can draw with this nice pencil." He handed her a small red pencil.

But Aileen would have none of it. For some reason she was cranky and out of sorts and she took the pencil and threw it onto the floor.

"NO-OO!" she screeched. "Want Bae's!"

"Stop it!" Rumple ordered.

Aileen suddenly threw herself on the floor, bawling and kicking, having a total meltdown.

Bae groaned. "Papa, she's such a brat! Look what she's doing!"

"I see it, Bae. Now just ignore her," Rumple said, and then he turned around and deliberately walked away from his darling terror on the floor. He had learned that often children this age threw tantrums out of a desire to get attention, and not giving them any made them stop and think.

He went and sat down again with the mask, though Aileen's howls made him wince.

Sure enough after about two minutes and an eternity of screaming, Aileen quit pounding the floor and looked around. When she realized neither of the men was paying her attention, she quit throwing a fit and sat up.

Rumple rose then and came to stand by her, giving her his I'm-Very-Disappointed Look. "Well, dearie? You through, or shall you beat up the floor some more?"

"Papa . . ." she sniveled. " . . .wanna dwaw . . . like Bae . . ."

"I gave you a pencil so you could, but you chose instead to throw a fit," Rumple lectured. "That's not how you behave, young lady." He pointed to a corner of the hut. "Corner, Miss Gold! Two minutes!"

Aileen began to cry. "Nooo! No, Papa!"

"Aileen Electra Gold!" he snapped, on his last nerve. "Shall I count to three?"

Sobbing, the little moppet got to her feet and walked over to the corner. She knew better than to test him when he used that tone and her full name.

Rumple sighed and timed the little imp in his head.

Bae continued drawing with his charcoal, making a picture of a dragon.

Finally Rumple called her to come out, and she ran to him and cried into his tunic. "Sorry!"

"Why are you so cranky today, spark?" he wondered as he hugged her. "Maybe you need a nap?"

He felt her forehead. She seemed slightly warm, but then again, she'd just screamed herself hoarse and been kicking and pounding her fists on the floor not five minutes ago.

He carried her over to her pallet and sat with her, rocking and singing until her eyes closed and she slept.

Then he tucked her in bed and went to finish the mask, sewing the finishing touches on it a few moments later.

Now everything was ready. He just had to wait till tonight.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Belle wished this endless revel would come to an end so she could crawl back to her suite and surrender to sleep and the peaceful silence of being the only one in the room. She felt as if all eyes were upon her, whispering and gossiping about the king's new betrothed, the lady from Avonlea, the Ambassador's daughter who had snared a king. Except she'd rather have been drawn and quartered than to have George choose her as his next queen.

He had announced the betrothal inbetween the fowl and fish courses at the banquet, and Belle had felt like the prize haunch of venison at the feast, all decked out with an apple in her mouth. Toasts had been drunk to her health, the king's health, and she received many admiring and envious glances while she sat in her chair at George's left hand, in her fine satin gown, the color of gold aspen leaves, that had been her mother's. She had forced a smile on her face, forced herself to graciously accept the king's proposal, and all the while she felt frost creep upon her heart and she withered and died inside.

She was bound to a monster, and unless her father could perform a miracle, she would be trapped here, stifled among the Galatians, a brood mare to their treacherous monarch. She had toyed with her supper, barely able to stomach all the delicacies put on her plate by the servers, and even the sweet winter apple wine that was always served on this night tasted sour on her tongue.

The servers, she noted, were all Galatian tonight, no Prytani were permitted in the banquet hall or at the dance to follow. "We don't want those dogs polluting our festival," sneered Gaston when she'd inquired where his servant was. "They can stay in their huts and drink themselves sick or rut like beasts for all I care."

Then he squeezed the waist of his current paramour, the dark haired woman once called Milah, who had now changed her name to Milana, and pretended she was from the provinces, though all knew she was his Prytani lover, and the faithless wife of the former First Mage Lord, Rumplestiltskin. Milana was uncollared, because she possessed such little magical Talent that she was nearly ordinary, and in her betrayal had shown clearly whose side she supported.

Gaston had given her a fine house with servants in the city and he visited her every night . . . or she did him . . .and it was rumored the two were insatiable, and practiced arts that would make a bordello madam blush.

Belle did her best to be polite and ignore her, while pushing around the veal medallions in cream sauce on her plate and arranging the carrots next to the asparagus spear covered in butter.

Finally the banquet was over when George stood up and declared, "It's time now for revels! Let us dance!"

That suggestion was met with a roar, and they processed into the ballroom, with Belle on George's arm and Maurice following. Her father gave her a sympathetic look as they walked into the ballroom.

The ballroom had been scrubbed till it gleamed and the floors waxed to a high gloss, bringing out the natural golden highlights in the wood grain. Chandeliers with dozens of beeswax tapers lit up the room, as did mage globes along the walls. Thick drapes of a midnight hue swept the floor, obscuring the floor length windows from view. A musician's platform was at one end of the room, and the royal musicians ready to play all night. Small tables and chairs were set along the east wall for the guests to rest between sets, and they had pretty flower arrangements of winter hyacinths and blue dahlias in white porcelain vases on them.

She had danced the obligatory opening dance with the king. George was a decent dancer, he didn't step on her feet and was fairly competent, but his unseemly groping when he held her made her nauseous. She was relieved when the set was over, though then she danced with Prince David, who was polite and also a good dancer. She danced with her father, who whispered that he would try and find a loophole in the betrothal contract if he could, and then he was whisked away by a top heavy baroness.

Belle had then pleaded a need to rest and went to sit down, and it was where she was now, sitting at one of the tables, her hands smoothing the skirts of her gold gown. _My mother's gown. I wore it tonight to honor her . . . and never dreamed I would be praying for this night to be over. I want to run screaming into the wilderness and yet here I sit, a pretty doll on display._ She cursed the Galatian monarch once again for his callous disregard of her feelings, of _her_ as a person, and wondered if it were possible to die of boredom.

Around her, the nobles frolicked and spun, giddy with wine and beer and other concoctions, celebrating the mildest winter on record, in a dizzying array of colors and fabrics.

She felt her temples throb and she went to massage them, shutting her eyes for a moment.

When she opened them, she saw something there that wasn't there before.

A noble in a golden scaled mask was making his way across the floor, wearing a beautifully tailored set of clothes. The leather pants, all the rage now in Galatia, fit him like a second skin, his flowing gold shirt, gathered at the wrists, reminded her of the fluttering wings of the baby dragons. And his vest . . . a crimson the color of heart's blood, with a dragon etched in gold upon the back. She saw it when he turned to scan the dancers on the floor . . .as well as the way those pants fit his slender backside.

Belle felt herself blush as crimson as his vest. _Stop staring! Ladies don't look at men's butts!_ Well, nice ones didn't, she amended, forcing her eyes to look away. She didn't know why she found him so fascinating. All the men here were wearing a similar costume that night, yet she wasn't drawn to any of them the way she was to the masked noble.

Some of the nobles wore masks as well, since it was tradition to play at disguising during the winter gala, the premise being to become uninhibited with the mask on. Belle thought if some of them became any more uninhibited, they needed to find a room.

Rumple walked into the center of the room, his eyes scanning the floor for Belle, trying to look casual, as if he belonged here, among these popinjays in their peacock finery, cheap imitations of the costume of his homeland. His heart thundered in his chest, and he was sure everyone in the room could hear it.

He fought to keep his hands from going to the collar of his shirt, which concealed his golden necklace of bondage. He had pulled his hair back into a neat tail, to try and minimize any resemblance to Rumple the slave. He saw the king, dancing with some baroness, he saw Gaston—the oaf, shimmying with his whore, who called herself Milana now.

Rumple bit back a sneer. _She's practically falling out of that dress, the tart!_ Milah was wearing a very tight dress in a crimson color that had her breasts almost popping out of it, though she didn't care and neither did Gaston it seemed. Rumple concealed another sneer of disgust and wished a healthy dose of the clap on them both, followed by a withering plague.

_You must dance two sets with the Lady Belle, in full view of the king and his court, and then your deal will be fulfilled._

Maleficent's words echoed in his head. Rumple felt his palms sweat. He had to find her, to fulfill this devil's bargain, before someone recognized him . . . he was dancing on a knife's edge here. Swallowing hard, he continued to look. Abruptly he felt eyes on him, and he turned slowly . . .

. . .to see a lady in a golden gown staring at him from across the room, her sapphire eyes bright with something he hadn't seen in a woman's eyes since he'd courted Aurelia long ago in the maze garden in Prytainia.

Desire. And curiosity.

His warm brown eyes met hers, and it was if an electric current sprang to life between them.

_What in hell?_ He thought as he walked towards her, trying to put some of his old insouciant strut back into his stride. He shrugged off the disquieting feeling and came to a stop before her, giving her a rather flamboyant bow, in keeping with his persona tonight. "My lady, may I have this dance?"

He performed a quick slight-of-hand, and a rose appeared in his fingers, he'd had it up his sleeve. "For you, Lady Farraher." He gave her his warmest smile.

Belle felt like she had drunk too much wine. Her head was spinning as she gazed at this masked stranger. "Have we met before?"

He laughed softly. "Only in passing, you wouldn't remember me. I'm just a minor noble. But, if it pleases you, I'd like to dance with you."

She took the rose he offered, and tucked it into her hair, not knowing what else to do with it. "What's your name?"

He shook his head. "Ah, ah. You have to guess it. While we dance, you can have three guesses . . . and I'll reveal it at the stroke of midnight if you don't guess right."

"A conundrum!" she giggled. "I like that."

"I thought you might." He cocked an ear back and heard the band strike up a waltz. "Will you do me the honor, Lady Belle?"

She placed her hand in his. "You give me too high of a compliment, sir." Then she rose gracefully to her feet. And she prayed this stranger wouldn't mash her poor toes, like the last man she'd danced with before sitting out.

Rumple led her out into the middle of the floor, close, but not too close, to where George was dancing with a blond woman in a pink gown. The lady had her hair piled up on her head and reminded Rumple of an overdone cake topper. He rolled his eyes as he put a hand about Belle's waist. "Ella Landon looks like she came off a wedding cake."

Belle laughed as he swung her around. "That dress does nothing for her. It's too frilly and the color . . ."

"Belongs on a little girl," he returned, gliding across the floor in the stately measured steps the dance called for. "My daughter would look good in it. On her . . . it looks horrendous!"

"You're married?" she tried to keep the dismay from her voice.

"Widowed. My wife died several years ago," he answered. Then he promenaded left with her, his hand's gentle pressure on her waist guiding her expertly.

"You . . . dance very well, my lord," she stammered, trying not to react to the way he held her. Not that it was improper, but . . . the mere touch of his hand made her feel flushed as if she had a fever, but the room was pleasantly cool.

"Thanks. My mother taught me," he replied modestly. "You dance well also."

"Papa hired tutors," she admitted. "I used to trip over my own feet."

His eyes twinkled. "All of do. Until we grow into our feet." He twirled away from her, connected only by a clasped hand.

Belle smiled, a true smile. She was actually enjoying herself . . . with a complete stranger. She didn't even know his name!

Rumple gave her a teasing beckon with a finger.

Belle spun into his arms and he dipped her, murmuring, "Are you having a good time, my dear?"

She swallowed sharply, for being in his arms was doing unseemly things to her body. "I'm having the time of my life . . .Richard!"

"Is that your first guess?" he queried, smirking.

"Yes."

"Well, Richard is a very nice name. A noble one . . . but . . . it's not mine! Good try though!"

They halted just as the musicians did. In the pause that followed, Belle tried to catch her breath . . . and to not let her eyes stray to this man's well turned leg. Instead she looked into his eyes, those warm brown eyes that reminded her of sinfully rich dark chocolate, and she said, "I'll figure it out before the night's done."

"You're welcome to try," he giggled recklessly. _Rumple, you fool! You're playing with fire!_ The sensible part of his mind screamed. _Just dance with her and get it over with! You're here for Aileen and no other reason._

The logical part of his brain knew that. Yet his heart . . . his treacherous heart was singing a very different tune . . . and a part of him dearly loved the element of danger, the quick rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins, as he danced among his mortal enemies with the king's betrothed, and the idiots didn't even realize that a fox was among the chickens.

Then he looked back at Belle, who gazed at him as if he were some prince upon a white horse, and he wondered why she was looking at him like that. _It's the mask. And the mystery. Nothing more, Rumple. Did she know who you really were she would run fleeing from the room._

The musicians struck up a more lively tune, one that Rumple recognized as being from his homeland. "The volta. Lady, can you dance this?" he inquired solicitously. "Or shall we sit this one out?"

Even as the words left his mouth, he felt his foot start to tap out the rhythm. It had been over a year since he had danced this dance, a fast high-stepping dance that challenged the dexterity and endurance of its dancers, but he still recalled the steps.

Belle nodded. "Yes. I know how. Do you?"

He laughed again. "Lady, I could dance this when I was ten." And once he'd been the most sought out partner for it, back when he'd been young and free and as full of pride as a peacock.

The music swirled around them and Belle took her mysterious partner's hands and they began to dance, skipping the length of the ballroom in the company of some of the younger Galatian nobles, including Gaston and Milana. George watched from the sidelines, as did Maurice, for they both were too old to do the vigorous steps required.

Maurice was astonished that his Belle actually seemed to be enjoying herself, she was laughing at her partner, a man who though slight in stature, seemed perfectly capable of dancing the brawnier men into the ground. He was light and quick on his feet, a stag to the others boars, and his dance was slightly different than the others as well, more vigorous, and with more flourishes.

Belle noticed this as well, that he seemed to have been taught the steps in a bit bolder manner than she had, and wondered why. But she was too caught up in the moment to inquire, as she skipped around him, her feet flying over the floor, and he matched her easily.

The music built to a crescendo and Rumple turned and said, "Are you ready, Belle, for the leap?"

For that was the big moment of this dance, when the man lifted the woman high into the air, and the one who got his woman highest was considered master of the volta for the evening.

"Do it, Robert!" she challenged.

He smirked, setting his hands upon her thigh and hip, then stepping smoothly to the right and on the turn lifting her into the air with his hands and thighs.

Belle felt like a graceful swan . . .as she was lifted from the ground, and twirled in the air for several heartbeats. She felt as if she had wings and could soar to the stars, and she was not in the least afraid of falling.

The others gasped in envy as they saw her being twirled around, lifted effortlessly, it seemed, by the golden-masked man.

Rumple spun rapidly, then lowered Belle to the ground on the next half-measure, gliding smoothly out of the spin. "Well, lady, that was fun, yes?" he asked, panting slightly.

"It was incredible!" she agreed. "You . . . made me feel as if I were flying."

"You're supposed to feel like that," he replied, and then continued skipping the opposite way.

He felt envious eyes on him and sashayed pointedly, thinking, _ha, now you know how to dance the volta properly . . .the way it's meant to be done!_

As he twirled her into another spin, he said, "You still haven't guessed my name."

"I will though," she insisted, thinking he was so very annoying . . . and yet so very fascinating. And she could not help but think she knew him from somewhere.

They danced together as if they had been partners before, instinctively knowing when to turn, to hop, and the music energized them, making them able to outlast any of the other dancers on the floor.

Even Gaston was breathing hard, and he practically dragged Milah around the floor, since she couldn't match the quick steps after five minutes of vigorous turns and twirls.

George frowned. "Who _is_ that man?" he asked a baron beside him.

"No idea, sire. But we'll know when he removes his mask at midnight."

"Well, when he does, tell him I want to see him. Anyone who can dance like that deserves a place in my guard."

"Yes, sire," the baron said, a bit enviously.

The dance ended, and the couples bowed to one another and then the king. Belle and her unknown partner were declared the masters of the dance, and inwardly Rumple preened. _You smug Galatians would just die if you knew that a Prytani slave just danced the boots off you. And my contract is fulfilled!_ He thought triumphantly. _Maleficent, do you see?_

As if on cue, he felt a shimmer and something appeared in his tunic pocket. He felt surreptitiously and his fingers encountered a small vial. He breathed a sigh of immense relief. His little spark was saved.

Now he could vanish and go home.

But oddly enough, he found he didn't want to leave just yet.

Belle's sapphire eyes were sparkling like uncut jewels in the light of the globes. "Oh, that was so fun! Shall we dance again?"

Rumple knew he should decline. He had what he'd come for. There was no need for him to hang around, risking discovery. But . . . the night was young and he couldn't seem to do the sensible thing and flee. He was captivated by her.

"Why not, dearie?" he purred, forgetting to disguise his voice in that single instant, made careless by his own foolish desire.

They began to dance a slower, more measured pavane, and Belle's eyes narrowed. That voice . . .she knew it . . . and her eyes darted to his hands, so slender, so strong . . . and so much darker than her own, tanned by wind and sun and . . . hard labor. And her suspicions began to grow.

_No, it couldn't be . . . he wouldn't dare . . . and yet . . . and yet . . ._

She recalled the way he had spoken to her when she had come back from the hunt, she would never forget the way he had comforted her, or how his voice had soothed her, like a velvet caress, with that unmistakable Prytani burr.

They had reached the ballroom doors then, and the clock began to chime.

Midnight.

And the unmasking.

Rumple realized he had overstayed his welcome. He quickly removed his hands from about her waist and murmured, "Excuse me, have to answer a call of nature," and he turned and walked out of the ballroom.

He was halfway down the hall and debating whether to sprint for the main doors out of the palace when the ballroom doors opened and Belle rushed into the hall.

"Wait! You haven't told me your name!" she called.

"Sorry, dearie! Gotta go!" he called over his shoulder. He started walking faster.

"Wait! Rumplestiltskin—wait!"

He froze.

Then, as if drawn by a lodestone he turned, tugging off his mask. "So . . .now you know. What are you going to do—shout for the guards?" he mocked.

She shook her head rapidly. "No! They'll kill you. But . . .why are you here? Why risk . . .?"

"For something that means more to me than my life," he replied. "My child."

He turned to leave.

"Wait! There's something I have to tell you," she began.

"Then be quick about it," he ordered, replacing the mask.

"Not here," she hissed. "Meet me . . .at my balcony. It overlooks the gardens . . . it's the one with the rose trellis. I can tell you there."

"Fine! But make it quick!" he sighed, then he broke into a trot, disappearing through the main doors.

Belle picked up her skirts and ran.

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

Back in her suite, she locked the door and went to the balcony, waiting with her hands clenched for him to appear. She couldn't believe it was really him . . . and yet her heart whispered that no one else could have danced with her that way and yet been so gracious and courteous.

She heard rustling and then something coming up the rose trellis.

Soon his head emerged and cleared the railing, and he leaned upon the railing for a moment, before lifting himself up and swinging a leg over it.

As he did so, a trailing vine caught his pants. He felt a thorn stab him and he yelped involuntarily as he put a foot on the ground.

'What happened?" she cried. "Are you hurt?"

He grimaced. "It's nothing. Just a thorn," he coughed, trying not to flinch. _In my damn ass!_

"Where?" she asked.

"Nowhere you need to concern yourself with," he said quickly.

But he was careful not to lean against the railing.

Belle's sharp eyes noticed. "Rumple . . .I can take it out."

"No, you can't!"

"Yes, I can!"

"You don't even know where it is!"

"Don't I? You won't sit down so . . .it's obviously in your . . .err . . .backside!"

He cursed her keen wits and felt a flush climb up his cheekbones. "Good gods, woman, I'm not letting you do that! You-an unmarried woman, looking at my naked ass-well some of it!"

"But Rumple . . . it's not like I've never seen . . . well . . . I mean . . ."

"What?" he almost swallowed his tongue. "You've seen a man's naked ass?"

"Well...ahhhh...when they're children yes..."

"I'm not a child, Belle!"

"Your backside is no different from a child's."

"_Excuse_ me? I don't think seeing my son's ass turns you on, madam!"

"Now...you can either keep grousing and be in pain all night or we can take this thorn out and you will be able to sit properly. And we can discuss what I know . . .in comfort." Then she added sharply, "And if you think I am that much of a degenerate, sir, I will shove you right off the balcony and you will be sprouting thorns in more sensitive areas."

His eyebrows went up into his hair. "Honestly, woman! Were you this . . . outspoken in Avonlea? I pity your poor father!"

She smirked. "Are you afraid of me?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" he snorted. "If anything . . . you remind me of my friend, Regina. Only you're bit more tactful."

"Indeed. Now drop your pants and we can get started."

He nearly choked. "Really . . . what would your father say? Undressing a man you only just met?"

"I'm not asking him now, am I?" she retorted."Quit stalling. It'll just take longer."

"Fine!" he threw up his hands. He carefully undid the leather ties on his pants and lowered them just enough so she could see the thorn. Then he leaned on the balcony rail, muttering, "Gods and hells . . . this could only happen to me . . .I try to act like a romantic in some tale and _this _happens!"

"Well, we can't always be perfect can we? Now...hold still..."

She was having a difficult time keeping the hand steady holding the tweezers as she stared at the flesh on display.

Rumple blushed. "Dearie . . . move a little faster, if you don't mind . . . if someone comes and see this . . .I'll end up with an arrow in my throat . . .and you'll be ruined . . ."

"I...I...almost there..."

He sucked in a breath as he felt her fingers gently touch him. _Dammit, Gold_, _this is NOT the time to start fantasizing about that_!

She was also finding it difficult to breathe as the thoughts going through her mind made her body temperature rise.

_Oh gods...I am not a wanton_...Yet why was the thought of being "ruined" by him so appealing. Or the sight of his naked ass so . . .arousing?

"Can't you find it?" he sputtered.

"Ummm...yes...but it's very small.." Liar, she thought.

Now she was imagining what the rest of him looked like unclothed...

He cocked his head, and wondered if she could like what she saw? Aurelia had been so shy they'd done it with the lights off, and he was never sure if she saw any of him . . . and Milah was so impatient, she barely let him undress before she was on him . . . and once she'd said he was . . . scrawny . . .his face heated.

He would be perfect for her, she concluded. She was not like the other women of her class who based their attraction to a male on looks alone. No, she looked beneath the surface and found the true treasure within.

"Belle . . . is there a problem?"

"What...ummm...no...sorry...I've got it."

She yanked the thorn out a little harder than she intended to.

"Oww!" he yelped. "Be careful, dearie!"

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to do that...just a bit...clumsy.."

"It's okay. I'll live."

She was going to have to pay a visit to the holy temple in the morning to cleanse herself of her impure thoughts. "You want me to kiss it better?" she blurted, her tongue running two steps ahead of her brain. "Uh . . . I mean . . .!"

Yes...say yes...

Rumple almost fell off the balcony. Did she just . . .?

She could hear the holy man now...

He craned his head around . . . and saw her looking . . .with something like desire at him . . .and he quickly pulled his pants up, and then turned around with unseemly haste and said, "I've something better for you to kiss, dearie," and their mouths met.

Her experience with kisses was limited but she couldn't recall one that made her tingle from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes and her body burn hotter than a bonfire.

_What are you doing? What are you doing?_ a small part of her screamed. _You barely know this man...he's a slave..._

She knew she should break away but couldn't find the strength to. Her hands gripped his shoulders.

He kissed her gently at first . . .to test the waters, then when she responded to him, he deepened it, and realized that for the first time in a long time . . .he wanted a woman the way he'd never wanted one before . . . not in all the six years of his marriage . . . she made his blood turn to fire and his heart thunder in his chest, passion spiraling through him in unending waves, like the sea when it crashed into the shore.

_Are you INSANE?_ the sensible part of his mind screamed. _She's a lady,_ _you're a damned servant . . .the deal was to dance with her not . . .not ravish her, Rumplestiltkin_!

She looked into his eyes, speaking without words that she was willing to take what this was between them as far as he wanted it to go.

You shouldn't . . .you know you shouldn't . . .but even as he thought it, he knew he was going to. He clasped her to him, kissing her as if she were the last woman on the face of the earth . . . and the one he cherished above all things.

If she were forced to marry George she would be nothing more than an ornament on his arm...his kisses as rough as stone and his touch as cold as ice.

'We shouldn't..." she whispered. "But...I...don't want to let go..."

He didn't know how something that should have been so wrong was so right, but his heart was singing an aria and he felt as he had back in Prytainia. when he was a Mage Lord, as free as the wind, with the magic coursing through him like fine wine, and all the hope and promise of the world was at his fingertips.

"I know . . . but . . .you make me feel . . . alive again . . . whole again . . ."

"You...you make me feel I am so much more than a trophy..."

"Because you are . . .you're a brilliant, lovely woman . . . a match for any Mage Lord in Prytainia . . ."

"There's only one I want now..."

His eyes widened. "I'm no longer a Mage Lord, Belle. I'm a slave . . . hardly the sort girls dream about in their bowers at night . . ."

"There is a way you can be free again...and I'd still choose you...even if you were naught but a poor spinner . . . because what matters isn't here-" she waved a hand at his collar. "-but here." she placed a hand over his heart.

"What do you know of my heart? I could be a horrible beast . . .with a heart black as midnight . . ." he warned.

"We all have a bit of a beast in us...but for those of us with stronger hearts it only comes out when we have to have to protect those we love or ourselves from getting hurt..But I didn't see the beast when you kissed me. How can a man with a heart as black as midnight kiss me and hold me with such passion that I feel it in my soul?"

He smiled gently. "Perhaps . . . I'm not quite the beast my Galatian masters think. You make me remember the man I used to be . . . and hope that one day I can be so again." His fingers caressed her face. "Now . . . what was this way you spoke of to free me?"

"Have you heard of a master collar? If you can find it you gain control of all of them. You can use it to free your people!"

"A master collar? Yes, of course. There would have to be one. But where could it be? It must be very well hidden. Somewhere only the king knows."

"And he would have it well guarded but there must be a way to get to it. Perhaps I can help."

"I don't want to put you in danger," he began.

"I can take care of myself. Your freedom is what matters now. George is the careless sort but I fear not careless enough. However..." she shivered. "If given the right...motivation...he may have the answer we need. And if I can't find it with him, I will peruse every book in the library until I find it."

"You are . . . the bravest woman I have ever met . . . for you to risk yourself for someone you barely know," he said. "Although strange as it sounds . . . I feel as if we've known each other for years."

"As do I."

She caressed his cheek. "No one deserves to be treated the way your people have been treated and it will end!"

"You really do care about us . . . my people . . .despite the fact that old lecher has proposed to you," he murmured. "How very remarkable!"

"I don't care about that old lecher. I base my judgments on people by what I see, not what others tell me."

"And what do you see in me?"

"A man I could love..." she confessed,

"And that is what I see too," he murmured.

This time her lips sought his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly to her.

He kissed her back softly, not wanting to frighten her with his newfound passion. Then he drew away.

He looked thoughtful. "If George has the master collar . . .you need to be very careful where you search for it . . ." he coughed. "If he . . . invites you into his rooms . . .perhaps you'd better carry something that will render him . . .insensible... or at least more than he already is , , ,"

Belle raised her skirt a bit to reveal a dagger strapped to her thigh.

"You go armed to dances?" he teased.

"A necessity after a rather unpleasant incident a year ago," she replied.

"Someone hurt you? I'll kill them!" he snarled.

She chuckled. "There's no need. He's not dead but my father made him see the error of his ways with the point of his sword."

"Good! I hope he gave him the thrashing of his miserable life!" Rumple said. "Do you know that where I come from, one of the worst crimes is the rape of an individual-man or woman? And it carries one of the worst penalties."

"The removal of their manhood?"

He nodded. "And transformation into something loathsome-like a slug or an eel or something revolting."

"A fitting punishment."

"And the penalty's the same whether you're a lord or a commoner-equal justice."

"I suspect George will have far greater concerns if the mother of the dragonets seeks justice..." She felt tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. "Damn that Gaston!"

He caught her tear on his fingertip. "He shall pay for that, Belle. The spell he forced me to cast on him will not last forever . . . and then he shall face the wrath of the golden queen."

"But so will we all...is there anything you can do?"

"Perhaps I may speak with her . . .but only if I have this blasted collar off when I do so. No dragon will speak with a collared coward! I must meet her as a mage in the fullness of my power."

"Then we must find the master collar as soon as possible."

"Yes. Will you join us then, Belle? Be a part of my little . . . Spinner Revolution?"

She smiled. "I will. And I do like the name."

"I didn't invent it . . .my friends did . . . because well . . . my family's spinners and clothing manufacturers, and I can spin straw into gold. It's one of my Talents."

"Among others," she murmured.

He shrugged. "Our symbol is a golden string. When . . . when we are ready to rise . . . all of those who are supporting me will wear it."

"I will wear it proudly."

He lifted her hand to his lips. "And now, dear lady . . .I must go. Before someone spots me . . .I must hurry home to my children." His lips kissed her pulse point. "Until next time, my bright flame."

"Next time..."

She went to the gala that night expecting misery not the most wonderful night of her life.

He had gone to fulfill a contract and instead he had found something he had thought he'd never find in all of his life.

It started out as a dance, nothing more. . . and ended with them both finding an unexpected ally . . . and perhaps even something more.

**A/N: Some of you will recognize the second dance, the volta, as being one that was widely practiced in the time of the Tudors, and some of you should also recognize the balcony scene as a reference to a famous play. Hope you all liked . . .**


	7. Belle's Gambit

**7**

**Belle's Gambit**

**A/N: Sorry this took so long to update but I had a hard time writing George with Belle . . . hope I did it okay. Thanks for your patience and please review! **

Rumple hurried back to the Prytani quarters as quickly as he could, knowing if he were caught it would spell disaster. But he reached them without incident and hurried home and took off his finery and put on his detested yellow tunic and pants again. Then, after hiding the clothes underneath some rags, he went to fetch his children from Regina and give Aileen the final dose of the potion that would cure her.

When he arrived at Regina's, he found Bae and Henry asleep together on a pallet and Regina trying to cool down Aileen with some yarrow wash and a cloth. She looked up in relief as he entered. "Rumple, thank the gods you're back! Did you . . . were you successful? Because Aileen's fever's returned and I can't break it . . ."

"I was. My deal is fulfilled and I have the antidote . . . as well as a new ally," he admitted, smiling. He approached the pair, removing the precious antidote from his tunic pocket. "Aileen, dearie, I'm here. Can you sit up and take some medicine for me?"

The little girl was burning up, her lively demeanor snuffed out like a guttered candle. She moaned softly. "Hot . . .Papa . . .m'hot . . ."

"That's all she keeps saying . . .she's been calling for you since she got sick . . . almost all night," Regina said softly. "Bae and Henry passed out a few hours ago."

"Shh . . .spark . . .your papa' s here," he crooned, and gently lifted the child so he could put the potion to her lips. "C'mon, baby. This'll make you feel better."

"No . . .no . . ." she whimpered. " . . .don' wannit!"

"I tried to get her to drink some willow bark but she spit it out," Regina told him.

"She's never been easy to get to take medicine," Rumple sighed. "Aileen, it's strawberry potion. Remember?" he persuaded. "Just take a sip. Just one."

Since the fever made her thirsty and her father was there, Aileen decided to drink whatever he wanted to give her and wallowed some of the potion, which did taste like sun ripened strawberries. She licked her cracked lips. "Mmm! More, Papa! More strawberries!"

Already the hectic red flush was beginning to fade.

"That's my good girl!" he praised and helped her drink the remainder of the vial.

The effect was immediate. Her fever broke and she wriggled from his arms, saying, "Need to go potty."

"Okay," Rumple smiled, thinking the potion had to contain some kind of diuretic to flush the toxins from the body.

While the toddler went to use the chamberpot behind the screen, he told Regina about his dance with Belle and his meeting on the balcony afterwards. "I think . . . I think she can help us find the master collar, Regina. And then we'll be free!"

"I hope so!" the other Mage Lord said fervently, and thought that Belle might mean a wee bit more to him than just a means to free him from his servitude. She recalled Daniel looking that way at her more than once and her heart ached. But she prayed this Belle wouldn't break her friend's heart . . . like that faithless tramp Milah had. "Seems to me she caught your fancy, Rumple," she teased gently.

"Maybe," he allowed. He didn't dare admit, even to himself, what kissing Belle had done to him.

"Maybe means yes," Regina was gleeful. "And I'm so glad Aileen is going to be fine now." She looked towards the screen and murmured. "I was so afraid she might . . . but now she's fine, thank the Fates! You know . . .Dan and I wanted a little girl so much . . . we were trying for one until . . ."

"I know," he said compassionately. "Why do you think I let Aileen stay with you so much?"

Regina gave him a sad smile. "You're a good friend, Rumple. And I love your kids like my own." She looked over at the two boys. "Henry had some interesting news for me today. It seems your Belle isn't the only one who wants to help us."

"What do you mean?"

Regina opened her mouth to reply when Aileen called, "Papa, m'all done!"

Rumple rose from where he'd been sitting on the floor. "Okay, dearie. Excuse me, sometimes she needs help wiping herself," he explained to Regina.

Regina waved him away, having been there and done that already . . .with both his kids and her own.

A few moments later, Rumple returned with a somewhat sleepy toddler in his arms. He settled on a chair with her, trying to get her to go back to sleep, patting her back and letting her cuddle on his shoulder. "Now, what were you saying before?"

"Well, Henry happened to strike up a kind of . . .friendship with Prince David . . .and found out that he doesn't agree with any of his uncle's policies regarding us. _He_ thinks it's wrong to enslave us and wants to join the Spinner Revolution and free us." Regina related.

Rumple frowned. "I'm not sure I trust him. He's a Galatian . . . and George's relative. What if this is a trap to reveal us?"

"Henry says his intuition tells him no . . .the prince is genuine. And you know his intuition is never wrong."

Henry had some Seer talent, and his intuition, a form of Foresight, had always proven to be correct before.

"Hmm . . .I hope he's right." Rumple still had doubts. Though from everything he'd seen, the prince was a hell of a lot better of a man than his uncle.

"He is," Regina said confidently. "Besides, I've heard from Graham that the prince has another reason for wanting to aid us . . .he's in love too . . .with a Prytani Mage Lord's daughter . . .Snow White Broceliande."

Rumple's eyes widened. "How . . .I never knew that!"

Regina shrugged. "None of us did . . .apparently he was seeing her on the sly, and didn't know what his uncle was planning until it was too late . . .and the coup had taken place. But you know Snow escaped, because she was away hunting with her dwarven escort in the forest, and she's with Graham and Robin now, helping them. You know what an archer she is . . . and how she can enchant arrows so they never miss, or travel swifter than light, or explode, or transform their targets into birds and squirrels."

"I know. But how did those two meet?"

"Apparently, David was traveling through the Mystic Wood, and Snow wanted to play a trick on him. She made a tree fall in his path . . .and typical Galatian that he was, he tried to cut it down himself . . . and while he was occupied, she snuck into his coach and stole his wallet. She would have gotten away with the prank too, but then she ran . . . right into a snare set by one of our woodsmen . . . and David caught her . . . and apparently he quite lost his heart over her . . . once he cut her down and the two of them worked out their differences." Regina answered.

"Does she vouch for him then?"

"According to Graham she does. The prince wasn't with those who were chosen to invade Prytainia that night," Regina said.

"Still, I'd be careful what I revealed to him," Rumple cautioned. "Until I see him stand with us against his uncle . . . I can't afford to trust him."

"Yet you trust this Belle? Who is betrothed to King George?"

"Belle never sought that betrothal . . . nor did her father. It was all George's doing . . . you know how he's always searching for some woman to be his brood mare and get him an heir, even though he has his nephew. Belle detests him and wants to get out of the betrothal, but right now she can't . .. lest he tries to invade Avonlea. She can't risk it . . . unless she frees us and we turn the tables on the Galatians and if she finds the master collar, we can finally have our revenge on these bloodsucking bastards!" he hissed.

"If she does." Regina reminded him.

"I believe she has a good chance. She's smart and George disdains women as the weaker and stupider sex," he sneered. "And if she can figure out where he keeps the collar and get it . . .their reign of tyranny will be ended over night."

"I hope your faith in her is warranted, Rumple. That's a lot of trust to place in an untried ambassador's daughter."

"What choice do we have, Regina? We can't get into the library to read any of the texts and George refuses to have any of us around him, so we can't get close enough to learn where he keeps the collar. Belle is the only hope we have," he pointed out.

"I know," she sighed. "I just hope she can do what must be done."

"I have a feeling she can. And you know I wouldn't say that lightly."

She smiled. "I think . . . you like her more than a little, Rumple. And it's about time, my friend. Aurelia's been gone over five years . . . you deserve to listen to your heart again . . .and take a chance on love."

"We'll see. I can't think about that right now . . . not until I'm free," he said.

"Just remember what I said."

"I will. And you ought to do the same . . .when you're ready." Rumple glanced towards the two boys sleeping on the pallet. "I hate to wake Bae and disturb him. He looks so . . . peaceful lying next to Henry."

"I know," she smiled at them. "Why don't you leave him here tonight, Rumple? I'll send him by when he wakes up tomorrow. You just go home with the little spark and sleep. Tomorrow's the only time we can sleep in without getting hell from our masters. So let's enjoy it while we can."

"All right," he agreed. "I'll see him tomorrow."

Then he left with the sleeping Aileen in his arms.

When he arrived back at his own hut, he was about to place his daughter in her pallet when he changed his mind and decided to sleep with her in his bed. He was so grateful that she was still among the living, and he just wanted to hold her and never let her go.

So that was what he did, falling asleep with her curled against him, her breathing a soft hush in his ear, her cheek next to his, an instant after he had laid down.

But then he dreamed of Belle . . .and his dreams were sweet torment.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Everyone in the palace who had attended the winter gala slept in the next day, save for the palace servants and Belle, who was up early. She had Brianna go down to the kitchens to make her a quick breakfast of a scrambled egg, toast, and fruit, as well as tea before she tried doing some research in the library. But she found no other text that was as helpful as the first one, and that meant that she would have to go with the gambit she had come up with last night while she laid awake in bed . . .dreaming of a certain Prytani Mage Lord.

The idea made her stomach roil just considering it, but she had no other option. The mother dragon was probably hunting for her children's murderer even now, and Rumple had warned her that soon the spell Gaston had on him would wear off. The Prytani had to be free of their collars by then. For they were the only hope anyone had of surviving a direct attack by a grieving and enraged gold dragon.

So she would just have to gather her courage and recall what her mother used to say to her—"do the brave thing and bravery will follow."

But she wasn't sure if she was being brave or foolish.

To that end, she sent Brianna with a message down to the Prytani quarters, to be delivered to one Rumplestiltskin.

Rumple had just finished eating breakfast with his children when a soft knock came upon the door.

Puzzled, he opened the door to reveal an unknown woman with red hair on his doorstep. "Yes?"

"Are—are you Rumplestiltskin? The—the man down the way said you lived here," Brianna stammered.

"I am, dearie. What can I do for you?" He was puzzled. Any Galatian knew who he was . . . and wouldn't be nervous talking to him.

"I'm Brianna . . . Lady Belle's maid. She sent me to give you this." She held out a bit of pretty blue stationary.

Rumple took the note. "Thank you. Is she well?"

Brianna nodded. "Yes. Shall I wait for a reply?"

Rumple opened the note and scanned it. It asked to meet in the stables, and Belle wished to know if he knew of any kind of herbal powder to induce a deep sleep. "Tell her yes, I shall be there, and bring what she needs."

"I shall." She gave him a smile. "Good luck, sir." Then she bobbed him a curtsey and left.

Rumple was a bit startled, for no one had offered him such a courtesy since he was collared. But then he whistled happily at the thought of seeing Belle again and went back inside his hut to gather the herbs he needed for a rather strong sleeping draught.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

He met her in the stables shortly after ten o'clock by the palace clock tower, having left Henry to watch over his children while he ran on this important errand. The sleeping draught tea was in a small sachet in his pocket and he walked as quickly as he dared to the stables, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

He found Killian grooming a mare in one stall and then he approached Delight's stall and Belle was inside, petting the mare and crooning to her. Rumple paused before interrupting the quiet moment, enjoying seeing Belle and the mare together. Belle clearly loved the mare, and Delight returned her affection.

Rumple leaned on the door for a few moments, just drinking in the sight of the beauty before him—both the horse and the woman. Belle's auburn tresses contrasted beautifully with the mare's golden and cream coat, fiery gold perfection. Again he felt desire stir within him . . . such as he hadn't felt since Aurelia's death. He had slept with Milah on their wedding night . . . but hadn't felt any kind of real connection with her . . . and her betrayal of him and his family as well as all the Mage Lords had quickly turned a rather bland tolerance of her into hatred.

He thought of how she had felt in his arms at the dance . . . and knew what he felt for her was an attraction beyond even what he'd felt for Aurelia. No matter how inopportune or unfortunate the timing was, what he felt was undeniable.

"Belle," he whispered her name like a stolen caress.

She jerked her head up from stroking her mare's cream mane. "Rumple!" she cried, beaming.

Somehow the sight of him, even with his slave's collar and yellow tunic, his hair hanging in his eyes, managed to send a shockwave through her. She could never recall feeling this way about any man before, not back in Avonlea and certainly not here in Galatia.

She came over to the door and took his hands in hers, her eyes shining like sapphires lit from within.

"Aww go ahead and kiss him," drawled Killian from the next stall. "I won't look . . . or tell on ya. Least you ain't doing the nasty like Gaston with some maid in the empty broodmare stall down the row."

Belle blushed, though she wasn't surprised.

Neither was Rumple. "You notice entirely too much, boy. Go get some hay or something and let us have five minutes alone."

"Sure thing, Rumple." And the boy darted out of the stable.

Rumple pulled open the stall door and said, "This really isn't the time or the place . . .but to hell with that. The nobles are still in bed sleeping it off, so less chance of being caught. . . I brought you the tea, but first . . ."

Then he took her in arms and kissed her.

Her kiss was sweeter than summer wine and made him drunk on the sensations it aroused within him. He knew he should not take such chances, yet his heart insisted, his foolish hopeful heart, and he allowed it to guide him for one brief instant, one magic moment, and kissed the ambassador's daughter like it was his last day on earth.

Which, he reflected a moment later, it might well be should one of the Galatians see him.

He drew back, saying ruefully, "Sorry, dearie. I almost got you killed."

Her eyes flashed. "I'm not! I'd rather kiss you than that lecher, George!"

He chuckled. "I'd rather kiss a lizard! But be careful, Belle. The king's spies are all over." He pulled the sachet of sleeping draught from his pocket. "Here. Measure two teaspoons in some wine or tea and stir. It takes a little while to take effect. Like fifteen minutes. Then you're out like a light."

She tucked it into a pocket of her skirt. "Thanks. I'll use it if necessary." She moistened her lips then said, "Rumple, if the collar is in George's room . . ."

"Be very careful, Belle. I don't want you hurt."

"I'll be all right, Rumple." She had her dagger and she had the sleeping draught. And George tended to underestimate women.

He only hoped she was right. "I'd better be going. Before someone sees us," he sighed.

"Yes. I wish . . ."

"If wishes were dragons, dearie, we'd all fly," he quipped. "And if you succeed . . . I'll come for you."

Belle had no thoughts of failing. _I will free you. And then we can be together—Prytani Mage Lord and Ambassador's daughter. And you shall free me too . . . for once the power of the collar is broken . . .George will be too busy worrying about his own neck to worry about bedding me._

**Page~*~*~*~Break**

George woke with a pounding headache and the taste of old cotton in his mouth. He called for his manservant, Viktor, who was also his personal physician, and asked him for water, a headache powder, and some food.

Viktor in turn summoned the footman, Liam, who was young Killian's half-brother, and sent him down to the kitchens to bring up food for the king.

His request sent the kitchen chefs into a tizzy preparing something, and as they were doing so, Brianna appeared and asked for a light lunch for her mistress.

"Get it yerself, we're busy!" snapped the head chef, a man named Goddard.

"How rude!" Brianna muttered.

"Here. Give your mistress this," a kindly woman called Granny Lucas, the under chef said, and handed Brianna a small handheld meat and vegetable pie as well as a warm raisin oat muffin fresh from the oven. Brianna tucked an apple into her skirt and drew a pint of cider and was about to carry it upstairs to Belle when she heard that the reason why the chefs were all going crazy was because the king was awake . . . and suffering from a surfeit of drinking at the gala.

Brianna smirked and raced upstairs to her mistress.

Inbetween bites of her pie, Belle listened to what Brianna had said. Then she got a rather wicked idea. "Brianna, fetch me a pot of boiling water. I'm going to make tea for His Majesty. After all, I'm his betrothed and maybe a pot of my tea will soothe him."

"Of course, mistress," Brianna said, wondering if Belle had lost her wits.

Belle had finished her lunch when Brianna returned the water.

"Sorry, it was crazy down there."

"No matter. Has the king eaten yet?"

"Umm . . . no, they were still cooking."

"Good. Because then he'll want my tea." Belle had poured the tea leaves into the water and let it steep for a few minutes. Then she added the two spoonfuls of the sachet Rumplestiltskin had given her. There! Now it was ready. "Brianna, let's pay a visit to the king," she told her maid.

Brianna escorted her down the hall, carrying the teapot and some china cups on a tray.

Belle was admitted into the king's presence chamber. The king was awake and was dressed in a blue ermine trimmed robe, with lots of gold chains and his rings on each finger. He looked rather like a fat spoiled child playing at dress up.

"Belle," he greeted, his pig like eyes focusing on her. "What brings you here?"

"Well, I . . .heard you weren't feeling well so I . . .came to bring you some tea, sire. It's one that I always make when I have headaches." Belle said brightly, pretending to smile at him. "Pour some tea for His Majesty, Brianna."

Brianna did and Belle came and brought it to George. As she leaned over to give him the cup, she allowed him a rather long glimpse of her breasts.

George snuffled like a pig rooting and took the tea cup. He sipped it and found it tasted good. "I like it!" he crowed. Then he reached out and pulled Belle onto his lap. "Sit here, Lady Farraher!"

Belle fought to keep from screaming. His touch was cold, his hands greasy, and he smelled faintly of old wine and unwashed flesh. But she forced herself to stay on his knee.

Brianna looked alarmed. "Milady, will there be anything else?"

Before Belle could reply, George snapped, "No, you uppity wench! Now get you gone! I wish to be alone with my betrothed. When Liam comes back, tell him to leave the food and go."

Brianna dropped a hasty curtsey and fled.

Now Belle was at the mercy of her betrothed. She slid a hand down her thigh, as if to reassure herself the dagger was still within her grasp. Then she pasted a smile on her lips and said, "Sire, how is your head?"

"Better. This tea . . . works better than anything Viktor gave me," he slurped down the rest.

Belle breathed a sigh of relief. Now she had only to wait . . . and to survive George's churlish attempts to seduce her.

George groped Belle about the waist. "Ah . . . you seem ripe, girl! Good! I need a girl who can breed me strong sons for Galatia."

"Yes, sire," Belle said, though the thought made her want to retch.

The king pinched her bottom and giggled. "Let's play a game, my toothsome lady!" he tittered.

"A game?"

"Yes! It's a game where you run and I try and catch you!" he crowed. "And if I do . . . I can steal a kiss . . . or two! But," he held up a hand. "No leaving the room!" He shoved her off his knee. "Now . . . run . . .Lady Farraher!"

He smacked her behind as if she were a reluctant horse.

Belle forced herself to run around the bed, which was the size of four regular ones.

George pursued her, grinning like a maniac, his feet thudding on the carpet.

Belle tried to act like she was enjoying herself, all the while wondering why the draught was not working. Perhaps it had been diluted too much?

George caught her as she lingered by the window, wishing she could jump out and escape him. "Ah ha! The lion catches the fawn!" he brayed, and drew her close to him.

Belle was almost smothered. The reek of his flesh made her gasp for air.

As she did so, George kissed her roughly.

He pressed his fleshly lips against her mouth and she nearly threw up.

_Gods give me strength!_ She prayed.

She endured more of his groping her breasts and bottom, and three more kisses before she finally saw the sleeping draught take effect.

The king yawned. "Hmmm . . . think . . . I need . . . a nap . . ." he groaned and dragged her onto the bed with him.

Horrified, Belle was sure she was going to be ravished, and reached for her dagger.

But then George flopped back among the pillows, asleep and snoring like a hog.

Belle said a prayer to thank the goddess who watched over young maids.

But she stayed lying on the bed with the king for several more minutes. When she had determined he was well and truly asleep, she slipped from his grasp and went to search the room.

She had just discovered a rather ornate box beneath a false bottom in his underwear drawer when she heard footsteps outside the door.

She ran and jumped back on the bed, concealing the box, which wasn't very large, beneath her skirts.

Liam walked in. "Your Majesty, I've come with your food—oh!" he gasped when he saw Belle. "Uh . . . I'll just leave this and go!"

He put the tray of food on the table and bolted.

Belle went to the table and hurriedly ate some of the food on the tray, so people would think George had done so. She was almost positive she had found the box with the master collar. Her heart pounding, she forced herself to look nonchalant as she made her way to the door.

"He's asleep," she giggled coquettishly. Then she sighed. "Such a good ride while it lasted!"

The guard on duty winked at her as she went back to her rooms with her stolen treasure.

Brianna was there, looking concerned. "Mistress, did he—"

"No. He wanted to . . . but his body decided sleep was better," Belle told her. "Do you think you can get me some cider? Please?"

"Of course."

With Brianna out of the room, Belle found a small set of picks and began trying to jimmy open the lock. Little did anyone know, but Belle had been taught how to jimmy a lock from her coachman at home, a former thief and highway man named Flynn.

After about six tries the lock opened.

Belle reached in and found a velvet drawstring bag. As she went to lift it from the box, her right hand scratched something.

Ignoring the small sting, Belle picked up the purple drawstring bag and opened it.

Inside was what she sought . . .the glittering triple golden woven strand master collar. Inset into the collar were all the gems that were in the other collars, making it encrusted with jewels. Belle sucked in a breath.

She could feel the magic inherent in this object pulsing through her in waves.

She knew in an instant she could command the lives of any who wore the collars. The magic flowed through her and she was almost overwhelmed with its seductive call.

She could feel the lives of the Prytani at her fingertips and she shut her eyes against the siren call. _No. I must not command them. I must free them. Free them all._

Belle felt something hot and sharp flash through her.

_Rumplestiltskin, you are free! _She called soundlessly through the link. _And so are all your people!_ She could feel the power of the collars through the link fade and knew she had freed the Prytani, as she had promised.

She allowed herself a smile of triumph, still holding the collar in her hands. Then she sent it to Rumplestiltskin, since he was the one who ought to have such a thing. He was the Mage Lord, not her.

The collar vanished from her grasp . . .and then she collapsed to the floor, as the poison needle her finger had scratched when she removed the velvet bag from the box released a deadly toxin into her system.

At the same time as the Prytani all over the City were freed from their collars, a large golden shape was scanning the skies with her magic, searching endlessly for the one who had slaughtered her hatchlings.

When the collars' magic failed, so too did Gaston's shield.

The great gold dragon suddenly sensed the presence of her hatchlings' murderer through her magical senses.

Screaming in hatred, Daeneralys the Golden Queen spun in the air and flew like a thunderbolt towards the City of Galatia, the need to revenge herself burning like a fire in her blood.


End file.
